Angels Cry
by Eternal Ending
Summary: -Feelings got you and the people you loved killed- When he needs it most, can an old friend help him see the light? But trouble has always had way of finding him. SarahxSam, post-NRFTW, can be cannon or fannon, Limp! protective! Sam/Sarah to come
1. Broken

**Angels Cry was originally going to be a one shot. Then, I just couldn't stop writing. So I decided three chapters. But three chapters wasn't enough. Six then. Now it has evolved a ten part story with a partner. In the future, I have more planned for our two lovers than you guys can even guess. Angels Cry can be considered cannon or fannon based on whether or not the series changes it. Thus far, I can easily make it so that it remains cannon.**

**Here's a more detailed summary: It has only been a short while since Dean's deal came due and Sam is not doing too well. Contrary to the months he spent without him after the trickster killed him early, he is in an endless loop of vodka and tears. In truth, he doesn't feel he has much of a purpose. But he never anticipated what fate had in store for him when an old friend stops in. This would send him on a journey which might not only bring back his heart but give him a reason to keep going.**

**You might be wondering a bit about the title. I actually changed it to make more sense recently. It is based on the song Angels Cry by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, who gave me inspiration for it to begin with. That song with bits and pieces of Broken by Lifehouse is perfect for this story. Speaking of music...nerd I am, I made playlists for every chapter. Here is this one's:**

**youtube .com/watch?v=zA4_RliN98s&feature=PlayList&p=E4135947A7ADEFD8&index=0&playnext=1**

**Take out the space. I purposefully put more songs than you need on there, so that if you don't like one, you can skip it and listen to the other.**

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_Well it is hard to explain_

_but I'll try if you let me_

_-_

The vodka burned down his throat, but did little to numb the pain.

Did it ever get any better? Knowing that someone literally died and went to Hell to save you? Would _his_ blood ever come off his hands? Would he ever feel whole again? Or would this empty, hollow feeling just go on and on forever?

Sam could suddenly understand why…_he_...had been so torn up…after their father died. Watching _him_ deteriorate back then had been hard enough, but knowing that Sam himself was now on a downward spiral worse than _his _only served to make things worse. For some reason, it was impossible to even think _his_ name; every time Sam tried, he could feel this intense pain in his chest and could hardly think or even breathe.

He took another swig of vodka, taking in every last drop like it was oxygen. He motioned to the bartender to give him more. The bartender eyed him wearily, knowing Sam had already had more than his fill, but by the look on Sam's face, he knew it would not be wise to not comply. He quickly poured Sam some more and left the bottle within arm's length before going back to quietly polishing beer glasses in the corner of the room, his eyes flashing to Sam every so often. It was early for some one to be hitting the counter as much as Sam was. Though he had good reason… There was only one other person in the bar; a big, muscular man with black hair and a scar across his face, quietly nursing a cheap beer and keeping his eyes and thoughts to himself.

Sam knew he couldn't keep doing this. He'd need money soon and wasn't willing to raid _his_ wallet or any of _his_ other possessions. Everything that was _his_ remained untouched in the back seat of the Impala, waiting for _his_ return still. Sam couldn't bear to get rid of any of it. To do so would be to admit defeat, to admit _he_ was really gone. That _he_ was really dead and suffering in Hell forever…

A soft chime rang out behind him as the door opened and the sound of stilettos filled the nearly empty room. Sam didn't turn to gawk, though part of him half expected _him _to be sitting next to Sam, watching the woman-in-heel's every movement with lust in _his _eyes.

But Sam couldn't help but hear the bartender's gasp and he instantly knew she had to be a looker. He could almost hear from her footsteps that she was tall, almost six foot. He envisioned a bleach-blonde beach bunny with traces of dark brown roots in a mini skirt, pink heels, and tank top. It was just the kind of girl _he_ would like and Sam could almost hear_ him_ getting up to go flirt and hook-up.

He glanced over at the bartender, who was no longer daring to look at him, his eyes on the girl. Sam would have laughed a little if he didn't feel so down. He felt his stomach do a little flip, asking for more vodka. He took a hefty sip, knowing he'd regret it in the morning.

The footsteps were getting closer, almost right behind him now and he could feel his muscles tense up. Although he knew it was unlikely she was here for him, who knew? With all his experiences in the last couple weeks, it wasn't entirely impossible that this girl, who ever it was, could be looking for trouble. And he was trouble, the very definition of the word

So he was totally ready for a fight when the footsteps stopped just behind him. He froze, vodka glass in his hand cracking with the force of his apprehension. His other hand griped his holy water canister, unscrewing the cap subtlety. His heart fluttered a little and he was ready to spin around and get a jump on whoever it was when a sweet yet familiar voice filled the room.

"Sam? Sam Winchester?" He couldn't believe this. He let his body loose, replaced the cap, and put on what he hoped was a friendlier expression to turn and face her. She was exactly how he last remembered her. The same smooth skin. The same shimmering, mildly wavy dark brown hair, hanging freely past her shoulders. The same simple, subtle touches of makeup. Her teeth were even the same shade of white. She had same gorgeous, expressive, big brown eyes complimented with gracefully arching eyebrows. Eyes which went first from being happy and excited to surprised and confused and then concerned and troublesome.

It took him a moment to realize the reasons behind her expression. He'd changed. A lot since she'd last seen him. He could almost see himself in her eyes. His long, unkempt hair hanging in greasy chunks on his head. The dirt and grime turning his face blotchy brown with a few tearstains cutting lines through it. The haunted look in his eyes, carrying massive, blackish bags. The lifeless way he looked at her, even when he was trying to keep from his expression from looking too hurt. He hadn't changed his clothes in forever and he must smell like cheap booze, blood, dirt and vomit. She took a half a step back in surprise before trying to put on a brave face.

"Sarah Blake? Wow…long time no see. You look great." He tried to put some feeling in his words; it was really great to see her. But he just couldn't do it. No matter how he tried, the most he could manage was to keep from sounding like he was on the verge of suicide. She opened her mouth to say something similar, but he cut her off. "You don't have to lie. I know. I've seen better days. Much better, in fact…So what brings you here?" He gave her a tortured half smile.

"I was with my father collecting a few new antiques for our auction. Went out to get lunch when I drove by this bar and I recognized the car. So why are you here? You working?"

He was glad she seemed not to want to press him for the reasons of his current appearance, but he tried to explain it anyway. "Ya," he lied. "I had to dig another one…" Well, that wasn't entirely a lie. He had had to dig one recently…

"So that's the reason for the whole…"

"Ya…" He answered. "Uncomfortably comfortable, remember?" He gave another tortured smile, finding it a bit easier this time. This was the first conversation he'd had that was this long since the last time he'd talked to Bobby, almost five days ago.

She tried to smile back, but was clearly having trouble. He realized she could see there was a greater reason for his appearance but still didn't press it. "I can't deny it. You do look like Hell…" He bit his lip as a twisted expression spread across his face, trying to bear the word used in normal context. It only lasted a moment, but didn't go unnoticed to Sarah. She gave him a slightly concerned glance, as if hoping he'd elaborate. When he remained silent, she changed the subject. That was another reason they got along as well as they did. She wasn't pushy and was very perceptive.

"Well, how bout you go get cleaned and sobered-up a little" here she eyed the vodka bottle. "and we can go out to dinner for old times sake. My treat." She offered

"How long do you have? I'm pretty damn drunk." As if to emphasize this, his last few words slurred so badly, he knew that they sounded like another language. He'd gotten used to alcohol being in his system almost constantly in the last week that usually he could control himself, but he was hammered worse than usual. She let out a laugh and gave him a beaming smile.

"Well, maybe lunch tomorrow, if you're that bad. You have my cell number still?" She asked.

"Probably not. I've lost so many phones this year, I think I've lost just about every contact I had." What he didn't tell her was that a high percentage of them were not only lost but also dead.

She took the seat next to him and took out a napkin and pen from her purse, writing her number down in an elegant script. Sam took a small sip from his cracked glass and she eyed him mischievously. As soon as she finished, she pried the glass from his hand and shoved the napkin in its place. "Here." She set the glass down out of his reach, but her efforts were in vain. Sam simply grabbed the bottle, taking a big, burning gulp.

She gave a deep sigh, realizing if she took that, Sam would raid the counter. Sam chortled a little, giving her the most whole smile he had in months. Since before the year deadline had fully smashed down on him and the day grew ever closer… She smiled right back at him. "So see you tomorrow then?" She asked, getting up.

"Don't go…" He said quietly. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a yearning question but she still didn't press it.

"Fine." She answered, sitting back down. "But if you want me to stay, you have to do something for me." She said, her tone serious but a playful gleam glowing in her eyes.

"What?"

"Stop hogging the vodka." The bartender, as if on cue, placed a glass in front of her with a sheepish smile. Sam filled her glass to the brim and she drank the whole thing with the best of them. "So what's the story anyway? The ghostee win the fight?"

"Nah, the shovel did." Sarah laughed.

"Oh-ho is that why there's a big glob of dirt in your hair?" She teased.

"What? Where?" Sam said, reaching back to his head to try and find it.

"All over." She gave a wry grin.

He dramatically shook his head, sprinkling her and her drink with thick, wet earth. A few big pieces landed in her glass and she gave a disgusted look. "You are soooo lucky I didn't have any more left. But now I need a new glass, thank you very much." She reached out to the cracked one she'd taken from Sam. There was a little left, but she quickly downed it and smashed it down to the table with a satisfied "ahh."

"I've never seen such an educated girl drink so much hard liquor." He said after she finished her third glass.

"Well, you know, I have quite a few 'educated girl' friends who drink harder stuff than this."

"Really. I'd love to see it sometime."

"Maybe you will. Maybe I'll invite you sometime. I know at least one or two that would match Dean's type. Maybe I could hook him up."

The moment_ his _names left her lips, two things happened. With the release of Dean's name, Sam suddenly could speak and think it clearly. It was no longer just _he_. The second was that Sam suddenly couldn't breathe. His head went spinning. His throat tightened and sobs raked his body. Sarah hadn't been looking directly at Sam when it started, but the moment she noticed his reaction, she froze. "Sam? Are you okay?"

Sam turned away from her, not wanting her to see him cry. He tried to get up; suddenly he couldn't get out fast enough. He needed fresh air to clear head and stumbled blindly forward, his tears thick and blinding in his eyes. His grip on the bottle lost purchase and it crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. He kept moving, but it was slow going and his lethargic pace coupled with the feel of the room spinning drove him insane. When he tried to go faster, his feet finally betrayed him and he crashed to the floor; his face splitting open from a jagged piece of glass. He tried to get up but there was no way. Not with how many sleepless nights he'd had in a row.

"Sam!" Sarah shouted, by his side in a heartbeat. She rolled him over and he looked up at her, concern evident in her eyes. Sam wanted to turn away. He wanted to stop crying. But all he could do was lie there, hysterical like some silly girl watching a chick flick. He felt weak. He felt vulnerable.

He felt like he wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be in all of this pain. What had he done to deserve this? He had demon blood in him, not his fault. His mother had died before he even knew her, not his fault. His father had been stubborn enough not to just let Dean die. Again, not his fault. Jake had stabbed him and Dean had done as his father had done. Still not his fault. Why did he have to suffer this? Why did he keep loosing people? Why did he have to be some Ant-Christ-Savior? All he and Dean had ever done was try to save people. And what did they have to show for it? Dean was dead and in Hell and Sam was heading there.

Sarah cradled his head, murmuring to him as one would to a small child. She had a panicked look on her face and her expressive eyes were wide with concern. He wondered for a moment if she knew what had happened based on his reaction, though this thought was washed out with misery a second later.

"Oh Sam…I'm sorry…" She whispered softly, her hands running through his greasy hair. He wanted to tell her. He really did. But for some reason all he could do was lie there, motionless save for his tears. He knew he must be a real piece of work now. A fresh glaze of tears to spread the blood from a cut all over his face enough? Not only that, but he was sure by the shoots of pain in random spots of his body that the glass was likely lodged in other spots as well.

He was there for what seemed like ages but was truly mere minutes. He paid no heed to the rushing, frantic bartender or the gasps as a few on lookers slipped in to gawk. All he did was look into her eyes. He lie there, his sobs lightening ever so slightly as she stroked his hair and held him tightly.

They were still like that ten minutes later when the piercing sounds of sirens came into hearing distance. It figured someone had called 911. Probably the freaked-out bartender. He pushed himself out of Sarah's arms, noting for the first time the small crowd gathered around him. He tried to stand, but his legs started to give way before he could get a foot higher. Sarah caught him.

"You haven't told me everything and we both know it." She hissed in his ear. He tried to shrug her off, but she went on "Sam, you're exhausted. You can't just get up like that. Not with all that alcohol you have in your system. And you need to eat something. You've lost at least ten pounds. You aren't getting up any time soon. Not alone anyway." She said, her voice stern as if she was talking to a small child.

"M'okay. Really Sarah." She gave him a look.

"Sam, you've been on the floor, crying for ten minutes. And you weren't exactly yourself before then. There's something you're not telling me. So here's the deal. You want to leave so bad, fine. But if you do, you are going to tell me what happened. If you don't want to, you're just going have to go to the hospital." She left no room for compromise.

"Sarah…"

"No Sam. You just scared the crap out of me. I deserve an explanation." Sam sighed, biting his lip. He could hear the sirens getting ever closer. "Choose now Sam."

"Fine, fine. Just get me out of here." He half growled to her.

Without another word, she rose, extending a hand down to him. With a little work, he managed to struggle up and get his arm around her and she half supported half dragged him out the door. People watched the two and one dashed ahead and opened the door for him. Sarah gave him an appreciative nod before stepping over the threshold.

Unfortunately, Sam could see the ambulance and a couple squat cars now. Sam moaned and buried his head in her shoulder with a curse. She quickened her pace and before Sam knew it, he was in the passenger seat of the Impala just as the first emergency vehicle turned into the small lot. A burly man stepped out, eying the blood trail leading to the Impala and then Sarah and Sam. He made his way over to the black Chevy.

"Stay here. I have an idea." Sarah whispered rapidly. All Sam could manage was a weak nod. He wasn't going anywhere. Not even if he wanted to. What was he going to do? Drive off wasted and exhausted with a police officer walking toward said car he was driving? He was drunk, not stupid. Run away? Tried that already and last time, all he got was glass in his cheek.

So he settled for watching Sarah talk to the officer. He'd mostly missed most of the first part, his normally sharp ears under the influence. "…Can't really hold his liquor. He's been having a hard time recently and he's been getting really emotional. He ran off and it took me hours to find him. You know how they are…" He was amazed by how well she articulated, even with the vodka in her veins. She seemed almost compltely sober-sounding despite her liquor.

"And you're sure he'll be okay?" The officer asked, glancing into the Impala at Sam.

"Oh ya. Just a little rest and he'll be regretting this in no time." She smiled at him sweetly and he seemed ready to buy it, getting back it the cruiser and signaling to the others that it was all clear.

Sarah got into the driver's seat without making a big deal at all. She simply looked at him and said, "Keys?"

Sam let out a bitter laugh. "What was that?"

"What?" she replied causally.

"You know what. You made it sound like you haven't had so much as a sip of even a light fruit cooler all day. Much less three vodkas."

Sarah shrugged. "Guess I'm just used to it. I mean back when my mom…" She stopped then, obviously starting to see his trigger words when he flinched before she even got out the word died. "Keys?"

"Oh, right…" He muttered, digging in his pocket. He tossed her the keys and just could stop staring as she started up the engine and drove out of the lot.

"So what'd you tell him anyways?" He asked, trying to sound casual.

"That you were my geek brother who lost his favorite possession, that Ghostbusters movie with all the cast's signitures including that flubby little ghost thing, in a card game and had ran off like a little girl."

Sam couldn't help but laugh at that one. "But how did you explain the blood?"

"You're a dork. Clumsy kind of goes with the territory…" She gave him a warm smile. "But in all seriousness, Sam, you're going to need to tell me. But I think I'll let you sleep it off a bit first. You can stay with me as long as you need to."

"I thought your dad was with you." He looked over at her.

"Okay, you caught me. I don't live with my dad anymore. I haven't for about a year now…I live around here now. I also admit it was no coincidence I found you, Sam." She looked at him softly. "I got a phone call."

Sam felt the color drain from his face. "From who?"

"I don't really know. He didn't say who he was. But he said you needed me and told me where you were…"

Sam could feel a chill run down his spine. So now someone was keeping tabs on him? And how did they know about Sarah? He'd known her all of one week. He'd never even told Bobby about that. The only person who knew was…dead…

As if sensing the mood shift, Sarah flicked on the radio. Dead Or Alive stared blaring loud enough to wake up the whole county. Sam could feel his throat get tight again and tears fogged his vision. He should have taken that cassette out a long time ago. But, like the stuff in the back seat, he hadn't dared touch it. Sarah caught the looked and frantically tried to rip the tape out, not wanted him to break down again. She managed it in record time but the damage was already done. She quickly changed it to a slow-pace, unrecognizable song. Only unrecognizable because all Sam could hear was his brother and his own voices singing off key to that song, as they drove down the road in those last, fatal hours.

"I'm not helping, am I? You just can't get away from whatever's going on, can you?" Sam didn't answer.

The rest of the drive was a blur to him. He had no desire to sleep, but it was hard. He knew Sarah meant it to be and he cursed her for it. Between the soothing music, endless drone of the Impala, and the extreme lack of sleep he'd been having, he could scarcely help himself stay awake. When Sarah reached over and started to lightly massage his scalp, that was the final straw. With in a few minutes, Sam went to blink and his eyes never opened afterwards.


	2. Save me

**Don't know if you guys'll pick up on this alone but Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is their song, which is on the playlist. Also, for those who caught my message on the latest chapter, you may want to reread a couple sections of this cause I have edited bits a little.**

**Playlist:**

**youtube .com/watch?v=MYTIiYM3puU&feature=PlayList&p=DEC33CDEF76063B8&index=0&playnext=1**

**Again, remove the space.**

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_Well it is hard to sustain  
I'll cry if you let me_

**_-_**

Sam woke early the next day and instantly, as expected, felt the need to rush to the bathroom. He frantically looked around; wondering vaguely if there was any way Sarah would forgive him if he vomited all over the white carpet beneath him. There was no sign of a bathroom anywhere, not even a loose faucet to betray its location and he cursed lightly under his breath.

He spotted a brown urn in the corner and rushed to it, kneeling to remove the cover before explosively letting what little was in his stomach and the remainder of un-metabolized vodka spew thickly into its confines.

After he had finished with his sixth or seventh time and the urn was half-full with the contents of his stomach, he felt a bit better and replaced the cover on the urn, muting the intense smell. Still, his head was swimming around the room like a fish around the sea. Must be a pretty damn hyper fish…He couldn't tell which part of it was the vodka and which was the dehydration, exhaustion, and damn near starvation. Still, one problem at a time.

He knew the best way to get rid of a hangover was to drink a bit of alcohol and a lot of water and vitamin rich food or drinks. Well, best for Dean anyways.

But when he reached down to try and find his flask, he discovered not only was it missing but he was wearing completely different clothes and as he reached up to his face, there was no longer any dirt on it and the cut was stitched up and dressed. In fact, all of the cuts he'd gotten from the glass were. He wondered briefly how he had ever managed to sit still during the stitching and shuttered at the thought.

He gave the room he was in a once over. It was spacious and beautiful. The white walls extended high before meeting the ceiling, which had a single simple sparking chandelier. There were pristine windows, each about a foot taller than Sam and just as wide, letting in the glowing light of early morning. The hour didn't surprise him, as he had fallen asleep mid afternoon yesterday; so in other words, he'd gotten almost eighteen hours of sleep.

The furnishings in the room were gorgeous. The couches were simple, white, and comfortable, probably from IKEA. There were two tall lamps with multiple heads, spread out in a random, unspecific pattern and random, vibrant colors like purple and red and green. All around the room were extremely vague pieces of abstract art in the same vibrant colors as the lamps.

One wall was completely lined with bookshelves. It was stuffed with books on ever subject and size; everything from traditional Shakespeare to modern books like _Twilight_. One section held a 42-inch Plasma Argos TV and racks and racks bellow it of DVDs and videos.

On a single white coffee table in the center was an assortment of food and drinks and medicines. Everything he could want; including some fresh towels, shampoo, shaving supplies, fresh clothes, and shower gel. With it was a note, which said, "Take a shower!" and a crudely drawn map of the house with a big gold star on the bathroom.

With no delay, Sam gathered the borrowed possessions, marveling at the fact that the clothes were near perfect size for him, and swiftly left the room. Food could wait. He'd probably just puke it up anyways. But smelling like crap around a girl? That was unacceptable.

Though the map Sarah had drawn was clearly not Picasso, it was clear and Sam was in the bathroom in no time. Like every other room in the house, there was a general artistic vibe to it. The walls were burnt orange and the tile under his feet was a weathered white color. There was a gold-framed copy of _St. Jerome in the Wilderness_ across from an elegant antique mirror.

But he didn't take any more time to examine the linoleum. Instead he started up the shower and climbed in while it was still cold. Instantaneously the frigid water chased away every bit of fogginess left over from the hangover. He enjoyed the feel of the cold water pelting across his sore skin.

After he had finished and dressed, his hair still plastered to his scalp, he made his way back to the room he had started out it feeling and looking much, much better. But as he stepped into the white room, there came a loud clapping from the far end. He looked over to see Sarah sitting in one of the ivory armchairs, a big smile on her face and a glass of orange juice in her hand.

"Better?" Sam asked coyly.

"Definitely." She answered, a mocking smile sharp on her face. "Sit." She gestured to the chair beside her.

Sam didn't argue, doing as she had instructed. He looked over at her expectantly as she poured him his own glass of orange juice. "Here. You need this."

Sam grudgingly acknowledged that his skin stayed in a wrinkled pile whenever he pinched it and took the glass with nothing more then a slightly sour face. He'd never really liked oranges that much, but knew it would be good for his system.

She waited till he'd had his fill on the orange juice and then practically forced the rest of the breakfast down his throat before speaking again. "I need to go back to the bar to pick my car up. You okay to drive?"

Sam took inventory of his senses and deemed he was more sober than he'd been all week. "I think so…." She tossed him his keys and rose, starting to make her way back to the door.

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Well, what are you waiting for? I'm not getting younger. Let's go."

He stared down at the keys in disbelief. "You're not going to make me tell you." He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"What? A girl can't change her suit?" She said with the slightest undertone of regret.

Sam stared at her, his face full of pleading.

"God, you're no fair when you lay that puppy dog look down…" She turned back to him and sat down.

She looked away from him a moment and when she turned back, Sarah's expression softened. "Listen, Sam. I was wrong last night. It wasn't right to try and force you into telling me like that. To corner you… I mean, I'd love it if you told me, but it's not my job to know every little bad thing that happens in your life. I knew you what? Two and a half years ago? For all of one week?" She gave a soft laugh. "For all I know, you could have turned into some psycho serial rapist."

Sam chuckled slightly. That would be better than this even…

"Wait, you're not, are you?" Sarah asked, her eyes a little wider.

"No…it's just that that's kinda funny to me…"

"Phew…For a second, I saw my life flash before my eyes." She said. The room went quiet for a moment and Sam noticed for the first time that there was a clock somewhere, ticking lethargically. With every beat, he winced slightly; remember him counting the second before midnight. And then with a loud bong, it began to announce the hour.

One.

Sam could feel his throat tighten. His hands grew shaky and clammy.

Two.

His heart rate quickened. It thudded so hard; he thought it was going to break through his chest.

Three.

Dean's face, full of feigned reassurance, flashed to his eyes; the last time he'd see him as he always was, trying to protect Sam. Always trying to protect him.

Four.

Sarah was staring wide-eyed at him, mirroring the horror on his face. She glanced around, worried about what could possibly have the hardened hunter on edge.

Five.

Sam's stomach was doing flips. His breakfast bubbled up to his throat.

Six.

He swallowed hard, keeping it as bay. It went down reluctantly and scorched his throat.

Seven.

He could hear Dean screaming. The agonized, terrified look on his blood-speckled face; still glued to his flesh in death.

Eight.

He gripping the seat, rhythmic breathing all but gone. He felt as if he was underwater, sinking…sinking…sinking…

Nine.

His lungs screamed for oxygen. Red and white dots blurred his vision.

Ten.

Lilith's maniacal laughter rang through his ears. The pleasure she took from Dean's last cries and Sam's everlasting pleads.

Eleven.

He winced, waiting for the final bong; vaguely he wondered if his heart could take it.

It never came. It was only eleven. Sam let himself breathe. But still there Dean was there, cold, chalk-white, eyes open. He saw him every time his eyes closed, every time his heart beat. The feel of his brother's blood on his hands returned and he couldn't stop himself from meticulously wiping his hands with a napkin on the table. He pressed it hard and dabbed a bit of water on it, praying he could do something—anything—to get rid of this feeling.

The smell of an open grave found its way into his mind, the burn in his muscles as he lowered the pine casket in. He remembered he'd insisted on doing it alone. Bobby had wanted to be there, to help him. He knew how hard this was for Sam. But it wasn't Bobby's job. He hadn't suffered Dean's death the way Sam had. It hadn't been his fault…that was the last time he'd talked to Bobby. He'd faded out after that, never really checking in with him. He was sure Bobby must be worried for him and the old man was probably just about ready to have an aneurism. He hadn't missed the dozens of worried phone calls.

Sam remembered how meticulously he'd chosen the gravesite. He didn't want some animal to pillage Dean's corpse, nor some random hikers to stumble in on it. Which meant it couldn't be somewhere hikers would want to go; meaning no sentimental graves by a waterfall or canyon. So he'd done his best, picking out a rougher clearing in the woods that was not too deep in that hikers would find it a challenge, but also not so close that someone taking a rest stop wouldn't just stumble upon it. Most of the area had thick grass and was surrounded by tall pines.

A crude wooden cross was all he could manage for a grave marker. Over all, the whole thing had been mediocre. But even still, it had left him broken in more than a thousand ways and ever since he'd been avoiding churches or anything with a crucifix on it about as much as he avoided clocks. They both did the same thing to him.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his, stopping his insistent scrubbing. He looked up from his hands to see Sarah looking at him, her eyes intense and filled with concern. "It's okay, Sam. You're okay." She cooed to him gently over and over.

She especially slipped the napkin out of his hands before he even truly noticed and intertwined her fine fingers in his. She waited, let him calm down as she stroked his hand gently. It took him a while, but eventually he could breathe again and his heart had returned to a steady thrum.

"Sarah?" Sam finally spoke.

She looked deep into his eyes. "What Sam?"

He paused a moment, giving her a sad smile. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "It's no big deal."

"Actually, it is. It's bigger than you can even imagine." She gave him a questioning look and his opposite had picked at the cushion beneath him. "You know about my job. You know what it's like…the hunt. That hunt so long ago…that was an average one. The kind I see on a regular basis." He turned his face, looking out the window.

"In my job, I see the most horrible things. The ones that would normally be a life changing experience for someone. But I'd seen it so many times; I thought I was numb to it. That wasn't true…it was just that it hadn't happened to me in a while…Something that bad happening to someone I loved… guess I was more then due…"

Sarah's eyes were filled with true curiosity, yet she did not provoke him into more. It made him feel more comfortable and therefore she would get what she wanted. The story…

"You remember what I told you back then? About my girlfriend?" Sam's eyes were distant, not really looking at Sarah.

Sarah nodded. "You said you couldn't stand to get close to someone. Cause every time you did, they got hurt. That you said you'd lost so many people in your life and you couldn't bear to loose another…"

Sam nodded. "It amazes me to think back on it now…what I had then compared to what I feel now…" He looked at her, a haunted look on his face, which sent a small shiver down her spine. "You were right though. I'm not the same person I was back then…"

She squeezed his hand lightly, encouraging him to go on. "I'm older. I'm more lost. I've seen things you can't even fathom. And this last year has been the worst year in my whole life. All for one stupid little mistake…" He paused, not truly sure if he could go on. "Sarah, a few months after I met you, we were on this hunt and…the thing it nearly ripped Dean apart…and then, as if things weren't bad enough, on the way to the hospital, we were in a car accident."

"Oh my god." Sarah said almost involuntarily. "Is Dean alright?"

Sam winced at the word. "He was hurt bad…and he was going to die…but the thing we'd been hunting before, it can do things. Favors for a price…it can give you anything you want in the whole world. But you can only live after making the deal after a set amount of time and then when you die…you go to…" He wasn't sure if he could get out the word. His eyes were burning again, but he needed to finish. To get all of this pain off his chest. Maybe then he could start to feel better again. So, he finally managed to stutter the word out. "Hell…"

Sarah threw him a weird look. "Wait…so is it like…a demon?" Sam hesitated a moment before he nodded. No matter how hard it was to talk about demon deals at this point, he knew it would be better to get the whole story off his chest. Something suddenly hit Sarah and her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "You didn't…"

Sam let out a slightly surprised, bitter chortle. "What? No, no…but my dad did. He saved Dean. I didn't even really get to say goodbye to him before…but after, Dean was really torn up. It messed with his head…I never really fully grasped it. No pain compares with it. The knowing that someone went to hell to save you…"

"I'm so sorry Sam." She whispered softly. He looked at her again.

"It's been two years. I'm fine…not that I don't love Dad, but I've had time. I miss him like Hell, but it's not what got me where I am today…"

"You lost me."

"Something else happen. Around a year after we lost our dad…me and Dean…we stopped by this little dinner to grab a bite. I went in while he kept the Impala running. I remember starting to pick through what he said he'd wanted…all the sudden, the lights started going crazy and there was this really intense smell. Next thing I knew I was coming to in the middle of Cold Oak, South Dakota…"

Sarah gave him a look. "Isn't that like supposed to be…"

"The most haunted town in America? Ya, no joke…" he looked far away again. "Turns out we weren't just hunting the demon; in a way, it was hunting us…well me anyway… there were others there… The demon said only one of us was going to get out alive. Eventually, it was down to two of us. Me and this other kid; a soldier ironically. He was convinced that there was no other way… that he had to kill me…" His face went ashen as he spoke and out of his peripheral, he caught the worried look Sarah gave him.

"We fought and I had him beat. I was standing over him, unconscious, with a crowbar on my hand and the knife out of his reach. Shoulda killed him…should have had the guts to smash in his head…but I didn't…I could hear could hear Dean calling my name in the distance. He came down that incline. God was I ever glad to see him. Relieved…Never been so glad to see him in my life…and trust me, I'm happy to see him a fuck a lot." Sam bit his lip. His own words stung like venom, like wildfire.

"That was when he shouted…rather screamed…my name…I didn't even had enough time figure out why he was yelling…this terrible searing pain hit me square in the back…I could hear something snap but couldn't do anything but fall to my knees as Dean rushed to my side. God was I ever confused. I remember his arm going around me and that pain, that horrible, searing pain, intensified in a sudden wave. His face was the last thing I saw…"

He stopped and Sarah watched him, a confused, yet semi-horrified expression on her face. "Sarah, I died…" her face went whiter than his if possible.

It took her a moment to be able to speak and when she did, her voice was dry and low. "So what are you saying Sam? Are you…are you…dead? Are you a s—h…spirit?" He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Does this feel like a ghost, Sarah? _I'm_ not dead…" his voice wavered. He looked out the window; sure by her gasp that she now grasped what had happened without him saying another word on the matter.

"He didn't…" He bit his lip but said nothing for a long while.

"His deal…" his throat was tight and dry. His eyes were watering and his voice kept catching on his throat. "Came due a…a…week ago…I…I buried his body, three days ago." The room around them was absolute silence save the ticking of the clock, bringing forward the pain again. For the first time, the thought didn't bring tears to his eyes instantaneously. His heart still beat wildly, stopping and starting. His throat still tightened and his eyes still burned. But the tears didn't come. Maybe there was such thing as getting used to it…

Sarah cleared her throat, her voice hesitant but calm. "That must have been hard on you, to talk about something like that…I hadn't realized…I'm so sorry Sam." There was a look Sam couldn't place in her eye. Pity? Sorrow? Sympathy? He was at a loss in her eyes, trying to find the word. She just stood there a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase it right. "Before I say anything else, I need to tell you this. Sam, you're an amazing person. I mean, it took me forever to open up to anyone about my mom…and you…you have three times that and then some…" Sam looked away again, not wanting her to read the truth in his eyes while he still tried to decode the look he'd seen in hers.

"Don't deny it. There are some things you haven't told me. But I don't really care. For you to open up to me as much as you did as soon as you did, Sam…you're unbelievable…"

That was when he finally saw what it was. The only reason he hadn't seen what it was sooner was that it was not the reaction he'd expected. Admiration and awe. She respected what he'd done. "But Sam, you need to know though that you can't blame yourself…"

"Why not?" he laughed bitterly. He got up, going to look out the window. "Sarah, it is my fault. Everyone. Mom. Jess. Pastor Jim. Caleb. Dad. All of Mom's old friends. Ash. Madison. Ruby…And Dean." He whispered the last, as if hoping by muting it, it would become less true. Outside, the sun was shining brightly. The streets were filled with people going about their business. But only Sam could see the bitter truth. That any moment, their worlds could come crumbling down. All they would need is one demon…imagine what the five that had stalked his life could do… "I brought this down on them. I did this…"

"Sam, you're not a bad person…you save people. And you give a lot to do it…you don't even get paid. You're a better person then I am. You just have had some awful things happen to you." She was by his side now, her hand on his shoulder.

"You don't know me…not anymore. You have no idea still, do you?" his voice was cold.

"Sam, you couldn't have done anything …"

"Haven't you thought to ask why the demon was so interested in me?" His question stopped her a moment.

She shook her head. "Sam, I don't care if heaven and hell are battling on top of your chest. I don't care if you spent half your life in hell. You fight evil. You bleed and sweat and loose all you care about. Without you, just think of all the people who would be dead!"

"What you don't see is that there are just as many people who would be alive if not for me." He said quietly.

"Listen to me, Sam. You need to stop this. What would Dean say?" Sam flinched at the word. "He'd want you to take care of yourself. To not keep doing this to yourself." He pushed away from her, but she jumped right into his line of sight, holding his shoulders. Her brown eyes bore into his. "It wasn't your fault."

"How would you know?" He said, breaking her grip on him.

She put her hands down. "You're right. I don't. But I do know this Sam……What ever you did, what ever's happened, it's done. It's over. It's past. You can't change it. I mean, I wished for months after my mother died that I could have seen it coming." Sam's breathing stopped. "That I could have stopped it…told someone that she was sick before even she knew it. Then maybe…just maybe…I could live with myself…

"But that's when my dad told me something. He said, 'Sarah, you need to know that your mother loved you. Loved you so much, that her last thoughts centered around you. She was worried about how you would get on with out her, how much pain you'd be in when she was gone. She wanted you to be happy. Sitting here, dwelling on her death, you're just proving her fear right. She knew that you loved her and that you tried your hardest for her. But Sarah, by being like this…you're not only hurting yourself but her as well…and me…'"

The words, coming from her, made sense. She gave him a warm smile, placing her hand on his shoulder. In that moment, he could suddenly feel something inside change. He stared at his hands, forcing Dean's cold face into his mind. He could still see it. But he could feel the usual intense pain was missing. His hands stayed steady. His eyes didn't burn. His heart didn't have a big gaping hole in it. It still hurt, but no longer in the same way. Like the ghost of a wound, a scar; just a remembered pain that had once hit him so hard. It was strange to say, but he felt good. Better than he had in weeks.

And it was all because of Sarah. She'd found him when he most needed it. She'd helped him, listened to him. Most girls would think he was nuts. Most girls would be gone. But she had understood. She'd stood by him, helping him work through his problems. She'd cared.

And she'd gotten through to him, helped break a hole in his shell. And now he could see the sunlight shining down on him, lit up by her face. She had rescued him, he was sure. He knew there was still a long way to go, but he didn't care. Not in that moment, anyways.

And as he stared as his savior, his angel, he smiled. Warmth rushed in his veins again. He could hear her breathing, her heart beating softly as she waited for a response. He couldn't help but do the first thing that came to mind. He moved in slowly, his eyes close and…

He kissed her.

It was slow, sweet. At first, she seemed shocked, her lips locked tightly with surprise. He knew it was because of his sudden change, his one-eighty. But then she got the idea.

And she kissed him back.

The sun warmed their backs, a warm bloody color shimmering behind his eyelids. His heart rate quickened and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She engulfed his senses. The feel of her skin as he brushed her neck gently, sending a chill down her back. Her sweet smell, just as she had smelled last time, strawberries and some other faint unidentifiable smell. Her hair billowed around him, blocking the sunlight like a silky brown curtain. It was down for once. He'd liked that. He could hear her heart, racing now. Feel it thud in her chest as his body pressed against hers. His hands went to her face, her cotton skin caressing his calloused hands.

He'd forgotten how good kissing was. It had been so long… Last time he remembered had ended just about as well as the rest of his life was going. In tragedy. The last person he'd kissed died. But here with Sarah, it felt right. She was right. They'd had something.

There was an allure to her, a connection he'd felt since the moment he'd seen her in the dinner. But he'd been too washed-up in his pain to really see it. But it burned brightly now, taking out every other thought he'd had.

And it wasn't even just that. She was strong enough. Strong enough to defend herself from the Sam Winchester curse, as she'd proven before. She could hold her own. She knew about his life and didn't care. He knew how rare that was; even having personally seen what happened when you met a girl who wasn't.

He hadn't even noticed at first as she led him back to the couch, their mouths still locked together. Hadn't noticed until she'd stumbled a little, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second as the back of her knees collided with the stereo system. But he went willingly enough, even after he saw what she was doing.

The system started blaring out a song he hadn't recognized at first. After all, he had hardly listened to any other type of music than the type which Dean had. But he quickly found he did know the song.

___And I'd give up forever to touch you,  
Cause I know that you feel me somehow._

She broke the kiss, her eyes smoldering with a lust he hadn't seen from her about her eyes pierced through his soul, breaking through every shield he ever put up. In those moments, he felt exposed. But in a good way. She seemed to know exactly how to draw him in, silently moving to the other side of the couch with her gaze never leaving his. He waited for her to make the first real move.

___You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,  
And I don't want to go home right now._

___She tipped her head slightly, an invitation to come forward. He came willingly enough. She slid one hand down his arm and blew across his face, hints of breakfast still in her breath. He kissed her tenderly, allowing her to deepen it when she pushed for more._

___And all I can taste is this moment,  
And all I can breathe is your life,  
And sooner or later it's over,  
I just don't want to miss you tonight._

His hand slid beneath her shirt. Her skin was warm and tender. Like if he so wanted in that moment, he could break her as easily as a twig. He pushed the thought from his mind, drawing her in firmly. This close, her could hear her heart beating wildly. But then he realized he didn't just feel it. He had become it.

___And I don't want the world to see me,  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.  
When everything's made to be broken,  
I just want you to know who I am.  
_

He didn't notice anything but her. Not every step toward her room. Not the creaks in the floorboard. Not even the stitch spitting in his side as the two messily entered her room.

___And you cant fight the tears that ain't coming,  
Or the moment of the truth in your lies.  
When everything feels like the movies,  
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.  
_

But she had. She pulled away slightly as her hand ran across the wound. She frowned slightly, obviously wondering if they should stop. His full on kiss the next second seemed to strip the idea from her mind.

___And I don't want the world to see me,  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.  
When everything's made to be broken,  
I just want you to know who I am._

Upon reaching the bed, she pulled away yet again. He was starting to get a little annoyed with that. But also a bit turned on. She undid the buttons down her shirt slowly, her eyes never once leaving his…

___And I don't want the world to see me,  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.  
When everything's made to be broken,  
I just want you to know who I am._

___And I don't want the world to see me,  
Cause I dont think that they'd understand.  
When everything's made to be broken,  
I just want you to know who I am.  
I just want you to know who I am.  
I just want you to know who I am._  
I just want you to know who I am.  


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**I know that the recap is pretty damn bad normally, but bear with me. I knew I had to add it and when you read Sarah's half, you may just realize why.**


	3. Never ever again

**Edit: Not the climax. This story is too much fun to say goodbye yet...**

**You know the drill...**

**Playlist:**

**youtube .com/watch?v=Dx8yOVu3WvM&feature=PlayList&p=9E5A6EC7507B0697&index=0&playnext=1**

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_This doesn't change the way I feel about you or your place in my life  
(please don't cry)_

_-_

The morning came without a single glimmer of light. Nearly opposite to the days before. Black clouds had rolled in and the winds had picked up a little. Not that they were audible next to the cackle of lightning, dancing across the clouds and earth, or the rolling pounding of thunder. Contrary to the pre-storm weather, there was not a drop of precipitation falling from the heavens.

That was rather odd, Sam reflected. Storms tended to make him uneasy; lots of things did with a job like his. He'd been up for hours, incapable of true sleep, just thinking as he stroked Sarah's hair lightly. She lay flat on his bare chest, arm curled around his neck, fast asleep. She was a deep sleeper if he'd ever seen one; the violent weather outside might well be sunny and gorgeous for all she knew.

His eyes flashed over to the alarm on the bedside, absently taking in the time. 6:22. Early enough that the sun should be up by now, but not enough to get out of bed.

He couldn't help but wonder where to go from here. He couldn't just pretend nothing had happened; go back to the way things were before she'd found him in that bar. Before she'd rescued him. Since then, a full week and a day had passed. Eight days he'd had with her. And in that time, a lot had happened.

They'd gone and gotten her car from the bar one ticket richer. Turns out the owner didn't really like them to leave the car there as long as they did. He'd paid for it. They'd gone out to lunch and then later dinner. They'd spent their nights dancing in the moonlight and their days on the beach. She'd taken him with her to her work at a small, beautiful antique shop. She'd shown him how to tell if an antique was authentic or not. He'd shown her how to fire a .49 hand gun. They'd painted portraits of one another, laughing when Sam's made her look like a decayed tree and Sarah's like he was a gorilla who'd been through a paper shredder. Every night had ended the same as that first day.

It was one of the best weeks he'd had in eons. Her house was becoming the closest thing he'd had to a real home since Stanford. And while he knew soon he would have to make his choice, to stay or go, he wasn't looking forward to it. He knew which was right and which was wrong and by the dark look Sarah occasionally got when she thought he wasn't looking, he knew she did too.

But by no means was it easy. Sam didn't know how much vodka he'd taken from her supply closet, drinking through the night after she'd wolfed out and hoping to hide his hangover in the day. Her endless happiness was often the difference for him between hysterical laughter and tears.

And for all those hours they'd spent by one another's side, not once had she brought up that first night he'd slept with her. In fact, she tried to distract him, coming up with thousands of activities to continuously keep his mind off of it. She'd taken notice of his reaction to the clock that day and mysteriously when he'd woken the next morning, there was a digital clock in its place. All of the clocks in the house were. She tried to deny it was ever there, but the effort hadn't gone unnoticed to Sam.

He could see her eyes analyzing him, gauging his every reaction to common place things. When ever he had a negative one, no matter how he tried to hide it or how subtle he was about it, what ever it was suddenly disappeared or they avoided it.

She'd silently moved Dean's stuff into a blue duffel which she stuffed into the trunk of the Impala; out of place, out of mind. To Sam's surprise, he hadn't protested. She'd even bought him an Ipod and system to hook up to the Impala, putting a wide selection of songs on it. Still, there were some things he knew she'd noticed that she couldn't do anything about.

He absently stroked her hand and then the medallion around his neck. Every beat of his heart stung as he did. She'd silently tried to remove it one day, seeing the pain its bulk on his neck caused him. That was the one fight they had since he had been here. He couldn't leave it. Couldn't bear to leave it in the car. It meant so much to him; a constant in his life since he was eight and his hunting life had truly began. She'd grudgingly dropped it, giving him a disapproving look every time she caught him messing with it or it slipped out of his shirt.

And while he had healed, he was growing increasingly agitated. She couldn't stop the thoughts that now gripped him. The want. The desire. Rage. Anger. Revenge. He wanted Lilith. He wanted her to die a gory death. He knew the only reason he wasn't depressed was her and while she was with him, it was subdued, the pain. And that left room for the hatred to fill him.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to find that bitch. He wanted to sick her own hellhounds on her, like she'd sent them after his brother. He wanted to carve her head off her shoulders with a dull rusty butter knife. To hear her cries and pleads for mercy before plunging Ruby's Dagger into her host's flesh. He didn't care who she possessed. Not after what she had done to him. To Dean. To his world.

But he knew the moment he left Sarah, his hatred for Lilith would be replaced like a deflated balloon by his anguish and depression. He could feel it rising in him even now, bubbling, behind a wall. It was there still, in every reaction. In every smile, in every laugh, in every drop of vodka entering his bloodstream. He needed Sarah. It was the only way he'd be able to keep from woe. Her or Dean…

Dean…

He realized how little he'd done as of yet. He'd been too caught up in his own grief to really try to help his brother out of Hell at the very least. Maybe since his wounds were healed over a little more, he could start trying. Trouble was, everything would be erased the moment he left her. He'd probably even be worse then before. So if he wanted Dean back, he'd want Sarah. Fuck, he'd need her.

But was it worth putting her life on the line?

When he first saw her in the bar, if he'd walked away, nothing would have happened. Sure he would still be hurt and possibly suicidal, but he could have walked away. Could have. Should have. Would now. Except…

He loved her.

Possibly more then any other girl he'd ever known. More then Mary. More then Jess. More then Madison.

Mary.

Jess.

Madison.

That was the problem. They were the problem. He didn't want Sarah to be just another name in his life of woman kind's best who had wasted themselves on him. Died for or because of him.

The moment he knew he loved her, he knew he couldn't stay with her. But he also couldn't leave.

Leave and he knew she could live a full and happy life. She could fall in love and have kids and be safe and be Sarah. She could forget him. That much he knew. It wouldn't be that hard. He wouldn't make it to a ripe old age. Wouldn't and couldn't. Not when he wanted to die. Not when he was being hunted by the most lethal demon on earth. Not when Yellow Eyes' blood still pumped through his veins.

But he wasn't sure he could stay away; even for her own good. He loved her. And by the way she looked at him, it was quite possible she loved him right back. She might not be able to move on. Might not be willing to leave it at goodbye. To leave him alone. And if she did find him, he wouldn't be strong enough to leave twice. Plus if she followed him, she might still get herself killed.

If he stayed, he knew he was putting a stopwatch on her life. A count down, where each moment was a gift from God. She would die sooner then her time. His enemies would use her, doubtless. To control him or to kill him, which ever came first. Before she reached her thirties, it was highly possible and plausible she would be six feet under in a pine box next to Dean's and his.

But if she loved him the way he loved her, both of their lives would be more complete. More happy. More full. She wouldn't get hurt by his abandonment and they could live as long as was possible by each other's side. She didn't have to spend her life wonder about what could have been. Maybe Sam himself, with a reason to live, could for longer. Hold on a little longer. Keep his hole manageable in the event he couldn't get Dean back and have a faithful, resourceful hunting partner. He could be happy.

His neck suddenly felt colder and he looked over to see her stirring in her sleep, her brows furrowing. An indiscernible word floated out of her lips. He stroked her hair once and watched her. Without her eyes open, those expressive, beautiful browns he loved so much, he couldn't read her exact emotion. Was she afraid? Sad? Confused? He couldn't tell, so he just continued to watch her, contemplating waking her to ask her.

"Sam…" She moaned.

What are you thinking? He said to himself.

It may have been out loud, for the next second, she was doing it again.

"Don't leave me…" She whispered.

Was their happiness more important then her life?

"I won't." He murmured into her ear. She smiled before turning into him; her head sideways across his peck.

He stroked her hair again gently and kissed her lightly on her forehead. She smiled absently once more.

He looked over to the alarm again. 7:14. It was more acceptable now to get up, maybe steal a few sips of vodka before he went to brush his teeth. She would wake closer to 11:30. By then, all traces of the liquor would be lost among the smells of minty tooth paste, coffee, and breakfast.

Reluctantly, he gently removed her head from his torso. She complied without a word, turning toward the window and the flashing lightning on her other side with a "Mmmmmh." He got up, stretched, feeling each one of his stitches pop as he did. He welcomed the pain they brought, knowing they wouldn't last much longer. He slid on the pair of clean boxers she'd provided for him and stepped into the blue jean. As he zipped them up, he figured he wouldn't bother with the shirt till later; he needed to take a shower anyways.

Turning back to her, he tucked the blanket around her, curling her up in a brown cocoon. Before leaving, he kissed her on the cheek, the overpowering smell of strawberries and whatever else making him lick his lips. Finally, more out of habit then necessity, Sam slipped the sheath for Ruby's Dagger onto the top of his pants. He glanced outside once, surprised to see it still hadn't rained and wondering how long that would last.

He slowly made his way to the kitchen, not bothering with the lights through the halls since he knew them so well now. He could feel his stomach getting excited with each step, growling angrily as he stopped by the bathroom to relieve himself. When he went to turn on the light, he was surprised to find they wouldn't go on. Despite the light paranoia this brought on, he shrugged it off. Probably just a down power line.

After he was done, he started back on his path to the kitchen. The kitchen had the most windows in the house and had a very free feel to it. The main theme in it was landscaping and it had the most paintings in it and also the most costly room. Sarah was still living off of her father's millions and only took the job in the shop because she always got the first look at the antiques. It was by this that she stumbled across Sam's favorite painting in the house.

He always paused to gawk at it, letting himself daydream a moment. It was a little cottage, shown by moonlight. It was simple, brown shingles and white paint with blue shutters. In the background a massive, orangish moon glowed over a see-through, freshwater lake. Brilliant blue-white stars shown by it, accompanied by a few shooting stars.

It was simple, but it reminded him of a dream he had when he was younger. To be normal. To own a house like that someday. With a wife and two point five kids. Dean had laughed when he'd told him about it, so the exact details he had thought up he'd kept to himself. He'd even had his kids' names picked out, even the unborn one…

He sighed. That would never happen. Not ever. He tore his eyes away from the painting and started a pot of coffee, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

It wasn't until he set them down on the table that he heard a crunch coming from beneath them. Slightly surprised, he touched the table with his pointer finger. A fine powder now covered his finger. He rubbed his other fingers on it, trying to recall it they'd spilt anything last night. He remembered Sarah had accidentally gotten sugar on that counter and they'd thought they'd gotten most of it up. That obviously wasn't the case.

He was just about to go get some paper towels to clean it up when absently, he raised it up to his face. The scent hit him like a bomb. Lightning filled the room a moment and he could see it wasn't white crystals; it was yellow powder.

Sulfur.

The lightning cracked again and behind him, he could see a shadow cast on the cupboards. Sam gripped Ruby's dagger, his senses suddenly acutely alert. He didn't hear the demon's approach, but he felt it. Shear evil. He waited, watching tensely as the shadow grew behind him.

When it was right behind him…

He spun around…

Slashing the dagger out…

When a sudden force sent him flying against the window.

The window cracked with the blow and he could feel a cut open up on his head. He couldn't move an inch. The demon standing there smirked. He was a huge man, hard to believe someone that big could be so quiet. His eyes did their customary change from normal to pure black and then back again. They were naturally green eyes, glowing in the dark with triumph. Sam couldn't make out much more then that, not by the shadow cast on him anyway.

Even if he could, he never got the chance. His head throbbed as the man before him drew his own dagger.

"Figures Lilith would be too cowardly to come kill me herself." He muttered to himself.

"Sorry. She's busy torturing your brother in Hell." The demon replied smugly. Sam growled. He fought his restraints twice as hard. The man simply grinned. He meandered over slowly to him, his pace mockingly slow.

He spied the coffee Sam had been making and even went to go pour himself a glass. He took a long, deep gulp of it. "It needs something." He said, looking around in feigned interest. He strode over to Sam.

Sam didn't even flinch as he sliced Sam's arm open right where some stitches had been. Sure it hurt like a bitch and he was screaming on the inside, but he would not give the demon any more satisfaction. He gave a slightly disappointed look before placing his glass underneath the wound, using the knife to squeeze out blood and puss into the mix. Sam grunted and the demon looked thrilled. He carved out a piece of flesh, letting it fall into the mug.

He dusted in some sulfur before taking another long draught, not opening his eyes as he swallowed. His eyes snapped open again.

"Mmmh. Now it's perfect." He waved the glass in front of Sam. "Try some?"

Sam fought him all the way as he forced Sam's mouth open and poured some into his mouth, choking on half of it. It gurgled up onto his bear chest, scalding his skin. His stomach churned violently; the irony-eggy taste of the coffee forcing him to gag. But he shook it off. This demon wasn't getting the best of him. No way.

"Not good enough for you, eh?" the demon taunted, staring fearlessly into Sam's fierce expression. Now the demon moved closer, his mouth inches from Sam's ear. "Maybe your girlfriend can make it better." All color drained from Sam's face as the room was lit once more by the silvery light of a volt of lightning.

Something primitive and wild snapped in him. His teeth flashed wildly and his heart rate rose. A guttural growl escaped his lips. He would tear this demon apart if he touched her. Tear the heart from his body. He knew unless he used Ruby's Dagger, it wouldn't kill him, but he bet it still hurt like a bitch. Put tape on his mouth so he couldn't do his little demon smoke thing. He'd kill him. Him and anyone else who dared to touch her. No one else would die for him. Especially not her.

Not Sarah.

The demon didn't pay much attention to the waning bonds holding Sam Winchester. He was so sure of himself. All Sam could see it red. The demon laughed as Sam snarled again. He'd obviously gotten the result he'd wanted.

"Okay, that's enough." He raised the dagger, preparing to plunge it into Sam's heart. "Goodbye, Sammy. Tell Dean I say 'Hi.'"

"Tell him yourself!" He yelled as he broke the grip and slipped the dagger between his ribs, strait to his heart. He let it stay there and the demon looked down at the weapon between his pecks. He fell backwards with surprise, his own blade blindly slicing across Sam's torso as he collapsed. The wound steamed and a shower of sparks rose from it as the demon's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He tried to stay up a second, but with a full electric jolt as a volt touched ground outside, he was down.

Sam bent over the corpse, looking the man in the eye as he grasped the dagger's hilt. The look of surprise on his scarred face made Sam chuckle madly.

"It's Sam." With one steady jerk, he drew the dagger. He wiped it once on the jeans, rising as the man's blood flowed freely, seeping all over the floor. It intertwined with his black hair as Sam left the room, wielding the dagger in one hand and clutching his chest with the other.

He had a first aid box back in the bedroom. He made his way over there, half expecting Sarah to be dead when he got there. He slowly peered into the room and froze. "Not another one…" he muttered under his breath as he eyed the girl with a dagger in her hand standing alarmingly closer to Sarah.

Said female stirred slightly, moaning in her sleep. "What do you mean? A demon?" this distracted the demon, who looked nervously as she waited for her partner's signal that it was all clear. It was all the time Sam needed. He silently but swiftly raced forward, dagger pointing toward the back of the girl's throat.

She turned at last second, her eyes flashing black as his blade met hers. Adrenaline from the last kill still racing in his system, Sam slid the dagger downwards, slicing at the girl's wrist. A shower of sparks rose from the fresh wound and the girl near dropped her blade.

With another forceful hit, Sam sent the blade flying. It hit the bedpost, lodging itself deep in. He held the blade up to the girl's throat, ready to drive it in the moment she made a move.

"Are there any more of you here?" He half-growled to her.

She didn't answer. He took a slice at her shoulder, sending another shower of sparks up. she grunted and gripped he injury.

"Tell me or I swear to God I'll…"

"You'll what? Kill me? I'm going to die either way…might as well not be giving the enemy help." She snickered.

"There are worse things then death." Sam answered darkly. "Ever had your heart ripped from your chest? I hear it's quite exhilarating." Illustrating his point, he finished chopping her hand off her wrist. She nearly screamed in pain, till he threatened to cut her tongue out. "Tell me." he hissed.

"Go to Hell." She spat back. He prepared another blow. Just as he was about to plunge the dagger into her, she stopped him. "Wait, wait, wait!"

"You'll tell me?" She glared at him but nodded reluctantly. He lowered the dagger slightly, still griping it hard.

"No one else is here. It was just the two of us. We were supposed to kill you and then get out…"

"And Lilith sent you?"

"Yes, yes. She was going to let us lead a battalion in…"

"In what?" She was silent. "In what you rotten piece of crap!"

He rose his dagger to great her till she spoke, catching him short. "They'll kill her, you know? They will bleed her dry. They'll make you watch, make you listen to her screams. And you'll be begging for death before the end. I'd love to be the one who does it."

Before she could get out another word, her head was separated from her body. sparks shot up from both pieces and Sam took a heavy breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

It took him hours to clean up the mess. It was 10:20. By the time he was done, Sam couldn't bear the thought of food; especially coffee. So he sat in the bedroom stitching himself up; watching Sarah as she slept, a troubled expression across his face. She had no idea she could have just died today.

Though he had stopped the girl short, her words had already done their jobs. They danced around in his head. He knew that he wasn't going to get too much time with Sarah, but this was ridiculous. A little over two weeks since the last attack; Sarah would be dead inside a year. A year of happiness. A year of fear. Was that enough to risk her life for?

He hadn't thought even once in the last few weeks that the demons could be watching him. He'd been too distraught to follow the normal precautions. But who's to say she couldn't still get hurt. He couldn't bear the thought. He picture Lilith by her bedside, dagger in her hand. Slowly cutting Sarah into piece and feeding them to her hellhounds.

The idea sent his blood racing and his head spinning from a rush of testosterone and adrenaline. In his distraction, he pricked a finger. He sucked air in his teeth before focusing once more.

But the thoughts kept creeping back. What if he died again and this time Sarah sold her soul for him? Could he take two people doing that for him? He shook his head. He couldn't even take a person he hated doing that, much less someone like Dean.

Someone he loved…

He finished sewing it and cut the thread. And what if, God forbid, he had a kid? As if having Sarah being forced to defend herself wasn't enough. But a baby? A helpless baby? He'd seen how having your kids with you on the hunt wound up. Horrible. They were a distraction and something you always needed to guard. They were slow and needed at least ten years before they could defend themselves in the least bit. He and Dean had gotten lucky that their dad lasted as long as he did. And he didn't have nearly as many demons on his butt.

Hell, their dad had died for them too. God knows now he was on the list of people who'd died to keep Sam alive. After all, he'd died for Dean who'd died for Sam. So it was all just an effort to keep the messed-up, youngest Winchester alive.

It made no sense, to stay with her. She needed to be happy…

Was he selfish enough to kill two people instead of one just for a few months with her?

"I'm sorry Sarah." He muttered to her. "I can't stay after all…"


	4. Not so very easy

**Yes, yes I know. I took forever. But check the other chapters, as I have now made seperate playlists for each and have added something which might make the name make more sense. That and I'm going to tell you guys now. Angels Cry has gotten itself 10 parts along with a partner story, explaining Sarah's side. So with out further adue...**

**Enjoy!**

**Playlist: youtube .com/watch?v=Ta5nc8tyok0&feature=PlayList&p=C36DF37705833F8B&index=0&playnext=1**

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* * *

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_Can't you see I'm dying here?  
A shot of broken heart that is chased with fear_

_-_

By the time eleven rolled along, Sam was in the Impala, staring at the steering wheel. He was less then a key turn and a couple of miles from leaving it all behind. And now all he could do is stare, his body void of all emotion. If he allowed himself to feel something, anything, he would loose it.

He'd packed everything into the Impala and thoroughly cleaned everything. As he had gone out that door for the last time, everything was as if he'd never been there. The blood. The vomit. Every stain. Every tear. Heck he'd even wiped the surfaces of fingerprints.

He'd moved in utter silence, even though he knew nothing would wake her. Not till she was ready. She hadn't so much as stirred as he scrubbed the wine stain from her pillow, a testament to him kissing her while she still had her drink in hand. Not even when he'd dropped a glass on the floor while doing the dishes. Luckily, it hadn't shattered, but that didn't keep it from making him shudder at the sound. After the demons this morning, his nerves were frayed. Every creak in the floor was a homicidal puff of smoke; every slight flicker of the lights sent him dashing back to the room to ensure she was still safe. Still Sarah...

He vaguely remembered leaving several demon traps all around the house, including a necklace he'd given her to keep her from possession. He prayed she'd still wear it after he was gone. That she wouldn't, in her anger, rip it off and become open to demonic possession.

He knew the best way to help Sarah through this was to leave as little evidence that he'd ever been there. He planned to even change his phones as soon as he could, so that the temptation to answer her calls or, god forbid, call her himself, wasn't possible even. Till then, he kept his phone on vibrate.

Every instinct he had told him to leave now. Before she woke. He couldn't allow himself to be weak now. Not when he was so close to leaving. But he couldn't bring himself to just yet. He wanted to say goodbye to her. He'd wanted to kiss her, one last time. To feel her warmth, her presence. To burry his face in her hair. To catch the faint strawberries. To guess once more at the other smell.

But if he lingered in her room, if he looked at her too long, too close, he would convince himself he could protect her from his enemies. That it could work…and part of him wanted it to be true…

He looked down at the hand that wasn't tightly clutching the steering wheel, the one holding a bright red, unaddressed letter. The silver seal tightly bound its lip. It felt heavy in his hand, the embodiment of his current dilemma. Possibly the source of his unprecedented hollow feeling. He would send it to her as soon as he could, not willing to let go of it just yet.

He fought internally. Every second that ticked by she could come out and change his mind. He needed to leave. He needed…

He needed her to live…

Finally, he gripped the keys and turned the ignition. The Impala purred to life. Huh…purred…that was always the word Dean used to describe it…his other hand—now letterless as it sat in the passenger seat—put the car

With one final look up at her bedroom window, he eased his foot off the break. His foot smashed into the gas and the Impala lurched forward noisily. Sam winced as he turned off Sarah's drive and the image of her home—his home—left his rearview mirror. But he kept driving.

He eyed one of his cuts, knowing it would most likely scar. If he had been aloud to stitch it, it might have not but he couldn't expect Sarah to be perfect at everything. She wasn't raised the way he was.

He looked over his shoulder to see the bar in his rearview mirror and all of the sudden they started. The memories. The reasons he should turn back right now. He saw her expression. Her bubbling laughter. Her utter confusion. The hiss of her voice as she insisted he tell her what's going on. How she made an excuse for him, putting her life on the line for him.

Always for him. Just like every body else in his life. No. He couldn't go back. Her life, her soul, it would be ruined indefinitely. Stained by the poor excuse of life he was.

Though he was able to fight the urge off the first time, things only got worse as he drove on and passed the little antique shop on the corner. With its brown shutters and dark interior. He could almost see her behind those windows, staring at him. Frowning at him… it dredged up more memories…

_Her sifting through the thing in the little shop, going off on passionate rants about the history behind some of the pieces. That flare in her eye, that sparkle. Diamonds couldn't compare when she got that look. She caught his look and threw a similar one back to him._

_"What?" She said to him, a smirk playing across her graceful features._

_"Nothing." Sam answered, grinning wryly. She gave him a slight pout and turned her back to him. She was obviously trying to hide her expression, but he could still see that little half frown she got when she was not satisfied. She grabbed a painting, examining closely and pretending Sam wasn't there._

_Her fingers tapped the frame lightly, turning her ear toward it to listen to the sound it made. With a straight face, she turned back toward him and walked straight by him, the painting still in hand, and placed it on a table with a bright white bulb shining overhead. She scratched a little piece of it, checking markings and the signature. She half-heartedly traced a complex design with her finger._

_When she turned back to him she had that look again. And he must have had a look, because her face flipped into a frown._

_"Seriously Sam, what?" She said again after a few moments, obviously bugged by his silence._

_"Just when you talk like that…the way the light hits your face…you remind me of Jess." She gave him a sweet smile and turned back to the painting._

_Sam absently lifted Dean's amulet from his chest, clutching it in his hands. A familiar empty feeling filled him. The glossy surface felt cold in his fingers, having been sticking out of his shirt. Cold. Like Dean's skin had been the last time he'd touched his arm to adjust it in the coffin and—_

_No. He wouldn't go down that route. Not today. Not where Sarah could see…_

_Suddenly he realized she was watching him again. He dropped the amulet, but knew she had seen. The look on his face as he held it. No eyes sharp as hers could miss such a thing._

Though she hadn't said anything about it then, Sam knew that was the first time she understood the amulet had something to do with Dean. It was after that that she tried to silently slip it off. He hadn't let her and this lead to their first and only disagreement. She had cared about him. Cared that he was in pain. How could he hurt her like this? Leave without so much as a goodbye?

No, he argued with himself. He was saving her. From pain. From misery. From becoming another face six-feet under for his sake…

He came to once more with the real world to the blare of a horn. He realized he had unconsciously stopped in the middle of a street and behind him was a red-face bald man flicking him off. Sam absently shot him a look in which seemed to shut him up.

He shifted his foot to the gas and drove forward. But he didn't go far before he was struck once more by something that reminded him of her.

_Her beautiful laugh graced the room. If he was to go deaf tomorrow and he only got to hear one more sound, he'd be stuck between her laugh and Dean's voice. Real or imagined._

_"Ya, those were the days. Dean was always getting himself into trouble. I remember once he mistook a nun for a vampire. Just about cut her head off before I managed to get out that it was the next apartment over."_

_"Wow, that just about beats the 'PA Dean' story." She said, wiping her eyes._

_"Just about." Sam smiled. Sarah took a light swig of champagne._

_She put her glass down and her eyes narrowed slightly at him, like she was trying to figure something out._

_"Can I ask you something?" She said, her voice crisp._

_He nodded slowly, unsure._

_"Where do you think you'd be now?"_

_Sam looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"_

_"If you hadn't left Stanford."_

_Sam froze. The question took him off guard. He thought a moment. "I-I don't really know. I'd be with Jessica I suppose…"_

_Sarah looked down and he knew he had given the wrong answer. But when she spoke again, her words took him by surprise yet again. "Is it selfish of me to say I'm glad you left?"_

_"Yes. You are a horrible person, Sarah Blake." Sam said with a straight face, only a glimmer in his eyes giving him away._

_"And you, Sam Winchester, are a horrible influence." She replied in a proud, slightly smug tone. They both kept a straight face for a while then broke into wide grins and giggles._

_When they both had quieted for the most part, she smiled at him. There was a serious look in her eyes. "Do you think they would have liked me?"_

_"Jess?" Sarah shook her head. "Then who?"_

_Sarah was silent for a moment. "Your parents." She said softly._

_"Oh…" He answered, a slight lump in his throat. "No, I'm sure they would love you."_

_"Good."_

_"What about yours? I mean, I know what your father thinks about me. But what about your mother?"_

_As he spoke, he could just see her face drop. She chewed on her lower lip slightly. "I think she would have loved you." Her voice wasn't at the least bit shaky, but her face as she spoke gave her away. "And my father didn't hate you." Her voice had finally taken on a slight waver. "He just preferred a little more cash in your pocket. He's always been like that. He was raised in poverty and was obsessed with making himself wealthier. After his first year in business school, he already was making a million a year. He is the most driven man I know."_

_"Then you don't know Dean." They both broke out laughing._

Somehow, this was the memory which haunted him most. There was something about the look in her eyes. Something he had overlooked. Or had seen what it was and hadn't wanted to see it.

A loud sound burst through his concentration. Behind him, blinding blue and red lights flashed. It was then that he finally noticed the speedometer had climbed up to 55mph…in a 35mph zone.

He sighed and pulled over. This was the last thing he needed. A visit from the police. Not with a arsenal of weapons in his trunk and Ruby's knife sitting plainly on the seat. He cursed himself for being so stupid and reached over to the handle, quickly stowing it on the seat. No sooner had he gotten it beneath the seat was the cop pounding on the window. He was surprised to see his gun drawn.

"Hands on the wheel!" he could hear him yelling from behind the glass. "Now!"

"Okay! Okay." Sam said loud enough for him to hear before slipping his hand on the wheel.

"Now step out of the vehicle with your hands where I can see them." Sam reached for the handle slowly and opened the car door. He undid his seat belt and stepped out. Only then did he recognized the cop. He was the same one from the parking lot that first day. "Put your hands on the roof of the car, please."

Sam did so and the officer frisked him down, unveiling his Colt 45, his cell, and a small dagger in his boot. He could hear the sound of the officer fixing his hand cuffs as he grabbed Sam's right arm, swinging it behind his back.

"You're under arrest." Sam felt his stomach drop. What did they have on him? He was sure he'd disposed of the bodies appropriately. Burned them then spread then scattered them to the winds. No, there was nothing in this town he could possibly be charged with. But what else is there? Obviously something, he knew, as the officer read him the Miranda Rights and began walking him off towards the squat car.

Sam didn't fight him as he was pushed into the back seat. He didn't need to cause a scene. As the officer radioed in his capture, Sam held onto Dean's amulet, feeling its cool surface. This could be very, very bad…


	5. Truth sound too crazy? Lie

**Hey guys. Been a while. In my defense, I actually have had this chapter done for a while, so please don't kill me…lol. Plus I would like to add Trig is the gayest subject on the face of this earth.**

**Playlist coming soon!**

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_Angels cry when stars collide_

 _I can't eat and I can't breathe _

_I wouldn't want it any other way _

-

Sam sat in the inside of a small interrogation room with one two-way mirror. The station was not too big. The corners of the room were dusted in black grime and there was a stain of something he did not dare think about running up one of the dingy white walls. A single bulb hung down from the ceiling on a thick cord, occasionally flicking softly. It was un-airconditioned and smelt vaguely of vomit and blood of those who came before him. The humid air had him uncomfortable, but he knew it was nothing compared to the fire pit his brother was currently in.

He fidgetited with the cuff on his wrist. He would have picked it and been long gone if he hadn't been curious about the charges. It wasn't like he had an army of demons chasing after him…not yet anyways. But he was sure after what he planned to do to Lilith; he'd piss off a nice collection of pissy black smoke.

He smiled inwardly to himself, staring over at the door. He'd been in here for about an hour now, though he hadn't been able to tell the time. There was no clock on the wall, nor did they allow him to keep his watch. Or most anything else for that matter.

His free hand reached up to his bare neckline. How could they possibly have the right to take Dean's amulet? What was he going to do? Choke himself with it? A few days ago, that may have been an intriguing idea. But how could he do such a thing to Sarah, who would doubtlessly find out?

As finally the door swung open, he was surprised at the officer who came in. He was tall and muscular. So much so that as he moved his biceps budged beneath his tailored suit. But that wasn't just it. He was about as clean cut as they came. Not a hair out of place. On the right breast pocket of his black suit, there was a badge, which labeled him a detective. On his other, a name tag. "Detective Mark Rowson."

As he sat down across from Sam, Sam knew he guessed right as he carefully straightened the papers and pencils to the point of sheer perfection that he likely had obsessive-compulsive disorder. That or he just was an extreme perfectionist.

He was quiet for a moment. They both were. Sam sized him up and he Sam. Seeing how tough of an opponent one another was. Something about his sculpted face belied his clean-cut figure. Sam knew this was a man who had a will of steel. Luckily for him, he'd learned from the best.

"Do you know why you were arrested?" he asked. His voice was firm, with a powerful undertone.

"Because I was going 15 miles over the speed limit?" Sam asked hopefully, all the while knowing that was about as likely as Lilith actually being like those she possesses. Impossible barely even begins to cover it.

The detective gave a sigh. "Is it true you were at Moon Bar a week ago?" Sam nodded. "With a girl by the name of Sarah Blake?" Again, he nodded. "While you were there, did you have a breakdown?"

"Yes." Sam replied.

"Did you cut yourself on anything?"

"Yes, a broken glass." He murmured. The detective nodded to himself. "With all do respect, you still haven't told me why I am here." Sam said calmly, though there were daggers hidden in his word.

The detective pulled a group of pictures out of a file and dropped them in front of Sam. One was a blurry picture, which vaguely depicted a picture of the Impala with a shattered taillight. The second had been zoomed in on the license plate and cleared up. The letters were outlined in red from a computer program. There was another of a basement in a new housing development.

In it were three bodies with necks twisted in the wrong direction, slightly mottled and blotted. One was a middle-aged man, balding in some areas. His body was curved toward the other two, a woman and a little girl, as if to try and protect them. The next photo depicted an elderly woman. Her decomposition was significantly more, but just as the others, her neck had been twisted. The photo next to that was an old man sitting in a chair, his face smashed into a plate of cake sitting before him. His neck had been twisted as well. There were a few of bloody footprints and some smear marks. There was one of an outside shrub, where a man lay bloody, stabbed in the neck.

Sam hadn't needed more than a passing glance to know what the next one was of. A blonde girl, lying on the floor. Not bleeding herself, but clearly dead. Around her and all over the walls was deep maroon blood. On the walls there was one spot that was mostly clear. Next to the girl was a reprieve in the blood as well, in the shape of a body…

Even with a slight glance, he could feel his stomach heave. He pushed away the bloody one without looking, eyeing the stain on the wall instead. They had been too distraught to attempt to clean up or check on the family. That and the sprinklers had failed them in a spot so demons flooded into the house like wild beasts, snarling and laughing with glee. They'd been lucky to get out of there relatively unscathed, Dean's corpse in tow.

"Around two weeks ago, this was the scene in a suburban home in New Harmony, Indiana. The little girl is Jenny Fremont, age seven. Her mother, Becca Fremont, is the woman. And her father, Allen Fremont. The second is Agatha Philips, a frequent favorite babysitter of the family. The other man, Pat Fremont. The one outside is Tom Orrin, a neighbor. Then there is Rachel Collins, a girl who had been missing for over a year. Most died from their necks being snapped, though with the family in the basement, there is evidence of internal injuries. That is what Rachel died of as well. And Tom was killed by a single stab wound.

"The blood in the room is not a match to any of the victims on the scene and there is clear evidence of another body. It is male as well. Besides, none but Tom had an outside wound and he was outside and dead near instantly. There wasn't enough time to draw the amount of blood in the room.

"We didn't really know what to think of it. Seven casualties on scene, eight suspected. A massacre on all accounts. Witnesses say they saw a car outside with your car's license plate and make just a few blocks down that hadn't been there before. They heard it drive off after hours and it never came back. They also say they heard a few raised voices and screams around midnight. At two, more screams, among them a little girl and a woman's voice."

Sam looked down. He knew it was the demons fault in all accounts. They had told the police and killed the family. Not that he could tell that to the officer.

"Being the severity of this mass killing of mostly a single family, we raised the alert all across the country on your license plate. When the cops came to that bar, one recognized the license plate just too late. He compensated by collecting bloody glass inside and running with a hunch tested it against the blood at the Fremont's. It came back with seven ales in common…

"As you can see, we have plenty of right to hold you here. And enough evidence to convict you, if we wanted. But the district is willing to make a deal. We want to know what happened. Such a crime…we are lucky the reporters have been kept off it. Also we need your real name. There are so many different names you have in your wallet… "

It was true. Ever since the episode with Hendrickson, the boys had destroyed any and all documentation with their real names listed. Sam knew he had to think fast. He couldn't go to jail. Not so much that he couldn't escape, but if the demons possessed inmates…

Before he could utter out a word, a stout lady zipped in the room, whispered something in the detective's ear, which made him smile, and then zipped out. "We now have physical confirmation. You are our man. The blood on your necklace came back as a match to some yours and some directly from the room. But you wanna know the best part? We found blood evidence in your back seat. Matching the blood in the room, of course."

Sam chewed his lip, fighting back the hot feeling in his face. The burn of his eyes. The photos were just too much. As if on cue, he saw Dean instead of the detective sitting before him. Just as he would have liked to always remember him, sitting before him with big old smug grin on his face. But as his eyes traced the pattern of the hell hounds rips and tears, they appeared. Blood gushed to the floor, pooling beneath the chair. He could see his ribs, a general view of his heart and lungs visible and minced. All the while the same smile stayed on his face. His wounds slowly cleaned, and sewed shut, his eyes slid closed. Just as he had last seen him. But there was one difference. His smile, still present even as his skin molded. Maggots had eaten out his eyes, leaving them big black holes in his skull. They reopened part of his stitches, budging out of them in a pile of breeding, slimy creature. His face was bloating, bacteria creating gases as they ate him.

This was how Sam Winchester had last left his brother. He was sure it wasn't quite that bad yet, but it was bad enough he could never be Dean again. Sam couldn't help but expelling the bile which had rose in his throat. He raised his unchained hand up to his face to wipe away the burning stomach acid.

As he raised his gaze to meet the detective again, one, final image hunted him. Dean with pitch black eyes. "No." Sam murmured, looking at the demon's massive smirk. It faded away till the thing he saw was no longer Dean, but the detective. His eyes, his expression, his body language all read one thing. Checkmate. He realized how someone could mistake his actions as guilt and remorse mixed with the feeling of being caught.

"Where is the body?" He asked smugly, sure his pain was all the confession he needed.

"You think you have me on murder. But if you saw things through my eyes, you might understand the truth."

"Which is?"

"I didn't kill anyone of those people. Not one." The detective's brows furrowed, confused as to why Sam's body language said he was guilty but his voice said otherwise in a sure tone.

"So, you just expect me to believe the blood just floated onto your necklace."

"No. I don't."

"Than what do you expect me to believe?"

Sam sighed. He would have to come up with the most ridiculous lie he could think of in a few second. And what better than a mortified version of the truth. "When I was a baby, my mother was killed in a fire. It burnt down our house. Me and my family, my brother and dad, never really settled back down. We lived on the road, my father getting somewhat wild after Mom.

"Two years ago, we got into a car accident. I was driving, but I was fine. It was a semi. Crazy driver plowed into the passenger side. Dad and my brother weren't so lucky. Dad was killed at the scene. But my brother went into a coma for a whole year. When he came to, he…he wasn't himself anymore. Paranoid, imagining things. He thought he was sent to fight demons or some nonsense. Despite this, he was the only family I had left.

"Unfortunately, some one else fed his imagination. She called herself Ruby. A 'demon.' She and him began to fight on a regular basis. I tried to get him to quit, but he was so convinced. He started gathering weapons and attempted to get followers, but I wouldn't let him. Ruby, on the other hand, had no restriction on her followers. God she hired a lot of whack jobs!

"But anyways, she became convinced that the Fremonts were helping my brother. So she took control of their house. When he found out, he rushed there before I could stop him. Before he got there, the babysitter, the grandfather, and the family cat were all killed.

"Tom Orrin was just unlucky. He was watching him, just curious. He must have thought the man was a spy. He called my cell, told me everything and that he may need back up. Ruby went for him. He put up a good fight. But when I got there, he was torn apart and Ruby had just cleaned herself up. She seemed genuinely surprise and went after me. I hit her in the head with something, don't really remember what. I didn't really bother to check to see if I killed her or if she was just knocked out.

"God there was so much blood. You obviously have never seen someone you loved dead. I don't mean in a coffin dead. I mean on a death bed or just gone in the most crazy places." His mouth felt dry. "I just…I keep seeing it over and over. He and I…we were so close. We kinda looked out for each other when we were younger. Even after the accident, he kept looking after me. It was just…different.

"A family friend came and helped me get his body out and we buried him ourselves." He couldn't go on. Painting him brother as insane seemed so disrespectful.

The detective seemed deep in thought, his brows deeply inward. "Why didn't you go to the cops?"

"He's my brother. Would you? I mean, he would have been arrested or put in an institution."

"And after his death?"

"We were poor, always on the move. You think I haven't been hit up for stealing a few times? Why would they believe me? Especially now…"

"Why now?"

"Ruby's followers. They went after that family I assume. They were alive when I left…but the other night, they paid me a visit. I was staying with an old friend and two broke in. tried to kill me and her, but I managed shoot both before they could. Came really close though."

"And their bodies?"

"Burnt um. Didn't want that on her head."

The detective took on a slightly defeated look. He opened his mouth to ask something else but snapped it shut. Sam could see his thought process. He had thought he had just taken a mass murderer off the streets. But instead, he was just a guy down on his luck. All of the sudden, there was a new light in his eyes.

He stood up. "I have to look into something." He murmured as he left the room. He opened the door, its rusty hinges creaking. He turned his head back towards Sam. "We took the liberty of calling the last number you called. Someone is coming to post your bail."

Sam could feel his chest tighten. Sarah was coming?

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**So….half way done now. I can guarantee a little action happening soon, probably in ways you won't easily suspect. Wish me luck. Maybe I can get the rest of this done this weekend and try to do it's counterpart so I can start on the real meat of the manner. The plot bunnies that have been churning in my head are so crazy. Basically, it starts out as an edited version of season four and KABOOM…all of the sudden there are a thousand other things happening and better explanations on everything!**


	6. A cursed man has no luck

**I know it has been a while, so I will make this quick. I've worked my ass off for this chapter and couldn't stop myself if I wanted to from putting it out tonight. I ain't going into much more than that.**

* * *

_Intentions that were pure have turned obscure _

_Seconds into hours; Minutes into years_

Handcuffs are not as hard to get off as most people think. All you need is a paperclip. A bobby pin. A needle. Anything so long as it is strong enough not to bend or break when you stick it in the key slot, provided you have a steady, patient hand plus the skills enough to pop the lock loose. And Sam had learned from the best.

The first time he'd ever picked a handcuff he was seven. Never mind that he didn't really learn about hunting until afterwards; his father specifically showed his brother how and his brother, being the smart ass he was, proceeded to cuff Sam to the bed rail just as they were leaving the motel. Sam had seen his brother do it and, desperate not to be left behind, was loose within twenty minutes. Before his father had finished making some critical adjustments on the Impala but after Dean had completely destroyed all dignity he had by laughing at him. Sam had been so angry with his brother afterwards…he superglued a pair of underpants to the back of his leather jacket.

He couldn't help but grin every time he thought of the look on that waitress's face as Dean turned around with a strappy black thong Sam had stolen on his back. It was priceless. Now, over a decade and a half later, Sam could be out of a pair of cuffs in a minute flat.

He glanced back over at the arm of the chair, the cuffs slightly spinning and causing a soft clink against the metal table leg. He turned his attention back to the two-way mirror. Years ago he'd learned how to tell if there was really anyone behind it. It was just this feeling he got.

Sam edged over to the door, cautiously and quietly. He wasn't in the mood to stay in this station. If they found the arsenal in the Impala or really truly learned who he was, chances were he would not get out of this station without cuffs no matter how elaborate his story was. And while he was only under easy, typical guard at the moment, he knew that would change the moment they even started to know the things he'd done.

He let his eyes slip over the mono-colored walls and floors of the station. It was almost embarrassing the station was so beaten and cobwebbed. The cracked floors could have definitely used a little work. The fluorescent light overhead flickered a little, clearly on its last few legs. That could play to his advantage. But unfortunately, there was a man at the door, standing attentively. This detective wasn't fooled completely.

He could almost imagine the detective tossing through files and records, trying to verify or disprove any of the things Sam had told him. If he hit a lucky cord, there would be at least two more guards joining the one currently out there.

Sam stared at the man, who at the moment had found his cheap Holiday coffee to be much more interesting than his prisoner. The man was young, probably only recently added to the force. He was clearly more than a little ticked that he got stuck babysitting and was looking for more action. Sam could provide him that, but could he dispatch the man before he sounded the alarm?

He frowned, unsure. But then, looking at the ceiling once more, he realized he didn't have to be sure. A ventilation shaft, doing a poor job granted but still there was one. It was over in the far corner of the room. Sam bent the paper clip he'd used to free himself of the cuffs. Maybe it could work as a screwdriver if he was smart about it.

He crouched down by where rusty screws firmly held the chair he had been in in place. He frowned, not sure he would be able to unhinge the piece to use for what little leverage he would need to climb into the duct. But then, that was not the only thing he could use in the room.

He looked back at the table. His calloused fingers ran across the screws holding it and he smiled when each one seemed fairly loose. It was true, when ever someone tried to get out; the stations seemed to always think they would use the chair. Sam had been in a few times where only the chair was screwed down, as if the station had too much confidence that the heavy metal interrogating table would not even be in consideration.

Despite crude tool, Sam worked quickly, quietly and efficiently, only pausing to grimace for a moment when he miscalculated and his head collided with the table. Each screw required a bit of work, but once the paper clip had loosened it, Sam's strong hands could pry even the toughest of them from their pitted restraints. Each leg took him maybe three minutes to unhinge. His finger protested the work and his nail beds bled a little after the second. He couldn't help but wonder if they were still mad at him for the time the pagan gods ripped off his fingernail.

Man those were nasty things.

He grimaced slightly though as he thought about it, less because of the pain and more for the fact that that had been Dean's last Christmas before…

He choked, pausing his work on the third leg for a moment. He couldn't pity it anymore though. Sarah was right in this case. He couldn't keep holding on the way he was…it would kill him.

So, sucking it up and pushing the thoughts from his mind, he sped his hands up, finishing the last leg in forty seconds flat. He pushed the table over, muscles straining.

He felt a little guilty for doing it, but he had ripped the shirt Sarah had bought him up into pieces. He eased each leg onto a piece of cloth and, dressed in the undershirt he was wearing, slid the table soundlessly over to the corner. Muting his own footsteps with the cloth, he noiselessly climbed onto the table and rapidly began unscrewing the vent. Luckily, just as he expected the vent was poorly looked after, the lid barely was screwed on well. Not like they had many people who even got this far. This station had never dealt with people as deft at getting away as Sam was obviously.

He turned toward the window, looking to ensure the coast was clear. The beaten hall was completely and utterly clear. Even the original guard was gone. Sam couldn't keep himself from smiling. Exactly as he had hoped. He hopped on the table, careful to make it seem like he had gone out that way.

Then, after jimmying the lock, he quietly slid outside, eyes glued to the bathroom just feet from his room. Time for the next part of his escape plan.

* * *

Sam fidgeted with the police cap he'd acquired; turning back to the young cop he'd knocked out from behind. It had been almost embarrassing that a member of the force could be knocked unconscious that easily. He slid the man's body into the vent, pleasantly surprised that the smaller man still got caught firmly. It would add to his escape time.

He smoothly slid out the door, his face belying nothing of his racing heart. No matter how many times he'd dealt with the law, it never quite lost the adrenaline surge you got while escaping.

Sam remembered the very first time he ever got away from the cops alone. He was around fifteen and had been a little slow on getting his ass moving when the cops showed at Lakeside while they had been hunting a skinwalker who had been a particularly tricky son-of-a-bitch. He'd known he was being hunted and shifted into his human form to tell the cops he knew some poachers who were hunting lynx in the area. Then, he himself transformed into one and just waited, the dumb piece of crap even lead them right to where the cops were camping.

Only Sam had managed to stay on the medium-sized feline's tail, desperate after a fight he had with his father who seemed to think Sam was a dainty little princess who needed constant protection. So he himself hit the silver round in the bitches' shoulder...and then was caught for it right after that.

The cops weren't dumb.

They knew a fifteen-year-old wouldn't be hunting an endangered species alone. He had to have someone jerking his chain. But they underestimated him.

Despite the well-ordered, highly secure facility they had, they put him in a cell with windows, as if to taunt him with freedom. Their first mistake. The other was the over-caring, oddly sympathetic officer left to guard his cell. The last was not searching the teen thoroughly enough.

Sam had known several drownings that week and devised a plan to play off of that.

He remembered smiling as he slid off his shoe and pulled out the knife and little bit of sleeping powder meant to subdue the skinwalker. With the little look he gave Dean all the time, he'd managed to convince the guard to get him a blanket. He'd slipped the powder into the guard's drink while he was gone. Once he was thoroughly out, wrapped up in the blanket, wetted his face and walked out of the station. He still remembered his father's expression when he went to free his youngest from his cell by means of the window, only to have said boy walk up behind him and startle the shit out of him.

It went much the same here. No one questioned the uniform nor the authoritative way he moved just as they hadn't the poor child whom had been rescued from certain death and just wanted to go home.

Everything went perfect. Until he was on the street. The bright sun was gleaming off a well polished car. He would have shaken it off as nothing if the make had not caught his attention. A sleek turquoise '96'N' Marcos LM 500 Spyder. His stomach churned, twisting into a tight knot. He wasn't fast enough…He back-stepped, turning the other way. That was when his head collided with someone else's.

"Ouch…" To his horror, Sarah was standing in front of him, rubbing her head.

Quickly he shifted his cap down and turned his head. He needed to act fast. Murmuring an apology and rushing to get away, his departure had been way less than smooth. But luckily she had been far too focused on walking to truly notice—or reveal she noticed anyway—who she had butt heads with. Once he was a safe distance, he slipped behind the ally's dumpster and looked at her. She was still standing in the exact same place as she had been before, silently looking up at the building.

Her hair was up today. He wished she would just leave it down. Her eyes were rimmed red and glistening slightly—tears perhaps? His heart kept surging, asking to go over to her and comfort her. But the smarter side of him, the side that wasn't so driven by emotions but rather an instinct to survive—the same side that had gotten him through hunting for over two decades—dominated its counterpart.

He could not let himself be run by his feelings. Feelings got you and the people you loved killed. They were liabilities in his line of work. In order to function, no matter how much it hurt, he would have to let go. Of Sarah. Of Dean. Of everything on this earth he had care for.

The only things that mattered were his basic survival skills. Only do as much as it takes to get by and keep others from his life. Food. Water. Shelter. Clothing. These needed to be his sole focus for himself. He may not have been born purely into hunting, but he sure as hell needed to act like it.

Which meant as he peered over at her from behind the dumpster, he had to ignore the sensation he was feeling.

In his head, it had been a lot easier.

With a lump in his throat he spun around, ready to jump the barrier into the impound lot just a little jog away from here.

What met him stopped him cold.

An all-too familiar sent wafted to his nose. It reminded him instantly, as it always seemed to do now days, of the time Dean had decided to cook breakfast for him on his birthday. But it was meant as a compromise. The night before, Sam had gotten in a fight with his father, who seemed more interested in the Bush Dai Dai he was hunting than his own son's birthday. Dean had been desperate to make things better, so he pretended their father had made Sam breakfast special. French toast, bacon, and eggs, homemade.

Too bad for Dean Sam had been so pissed he hadn't slept and saw their father leave before the scent of bacon filled the rental home.

It was a time Sam had never been proud of. For some reason, his anger had been so bad he decided to take it out on his well-meaning older brother. It enraged him completely, the idea that his brother would try to cover for his gutless father. He didn't deserve to be covered for. So as Dean held out a plate for him, Sam smacked it right out of his hand, sending all of its contents onto the floor as the ceramic plate shattered into millions of pieces.

But that wasn't enough. He attacked all the ingredients; slamming them into the blender and pressing pulverize. Then it was time to really push Dean into the dirt. He called him needy and a slave to "that man and his mistakes." He then ran up stairs, spending the whole school day locked tightly in his room no matter how his shocked brother pleaded. He went to school after that, but did not talk to Dean, pretending the older Winchester was fog to him.

After his sixth day like this, Sam noticed Dean was not at school. He texted him out of curiosity, no reply. When he got home, he was slightly on edge. Just as he should have been. In the living room, Dean was lying on the floor, barely breathing, a bottle of sleeping pills pressed in his palm and alcohol on his breath.

Sam did not bring him to the hospital. He spent whole weekend trying to make Dean better, begging for him not to die. He called his father, although sure the elder man would not answer. Surprise, surprise. But everything eventually worked for the better and Dean came around.

When their father got home, his only comment was the smell of the rotten eggs Dean had left out after their fight. But Sam said nothing till the eldest Winchester finally checked his messages, finding ones from both brothers.

That same scent was now overpowering. Nauseating even as a group of men, some police officers, some civilians, entered the station right after Sarah. One turned toward the street, scanning the area over his shoulder.

With inky black eyes.

Evil eyes.

A demon's eyes.

Sam turned back over his shoulder, glancing at the fence leading to the impound lot. Then he looked back to where the men had gone in.

In the split decision, he booked it back toward the station, arms flailing slightly when he slipped in a puddle for a moment and touched the wet asphalt to steady himself. With force he rammed into the station, skidding to a stop. His eyes scanned the desks and area, quickly spotting Sarah, but the men had dissolved into a crowd of young adults in line for everything from parking tickets to minors.

Sam also could see the detective and a collective of officers scurrying about, obviously aware of his slip. He pushed the brim of his uniform's hat down, obscuring his eyes from view. He knew chances were the demons were here for them, possibly following Sarah even. If he got her out or at least safe, maybe they would just leave. He shifted the Ruby's knife, hidden safely on his person.

With large strides, he made his way to the boiler room, thinking maybe he could use it to his advantage. But his eyes never fully left Sarah, watching her as she obviously was discovering Sam's absence and disappearance. He needed a way to get her out of harms way. Luckily, he noted with a glance over to her, she was wearing the charm he gave her, the one that warded off possession.

At least he could know for sure she was cleared.

Sam slipped behind the door, looking at the devices, which controlled the water supply. There were a few items on him at the moment, but they gave him an idea. A cross, the knife, a small thing of salt, and a single match. Ya, this could work...


	7. A stand off at the police station

**Well, hello there, please don't kill me. I have too many excuses to count, but I won't bore you with them. I love this chapter except the end. But you've waited long enough and if I look at these words any longer, my computer is going to spontaneously combust. No more blabbing cept I am going to change my name soon. So don't be surprised if this story pops up with another auther writing it, its still me. Just check the ID and you'll know for sure.**

* * *

The glowing inferno at his back, Sam couldn't help feeling alive. Fire was a weapon, wild and tame. Thrilling and terrifying. It grew and engulfed all around him. And even though there was a greater reason for the blaze; triggering the soppy holy water which now fell in thick streams from the ceiling, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy that enncial rush.

He watched with callous eyes as people, shocked and surprised by the sudden chill of water beating down their backs and the choking smell of the oil fed flames, ran for their lives out of the station. A few men he spotted clung to the wall, coal black eyes finding Sam's hazel ones with an icy glare.

Sam let the holy water drip down his back, knowing that it would help him with the battle he would soon be partcipating in. He flipped Ruby's knife out, hunching his shoulders in a way he prayed would look intimidating. Of course, how intimidating could he be compared to the tortures he was certain waited in Hell? Where Dean was…

Sam shook his head quick. Now was not the time to go on an angst feast. He needed to fight these basturds no matter what it took.

One of the demons locked eyes with him, clenching his fist. The faucts broke into metal shards all over the station, allowing the demons to come forward. Their feet smoked from the holy water. There was three coming toward him now, one to each of his major sides. A desk seperated the one on his left from him; of course, it wasn't much hinderence. With rediculous prescision, the demon jumped straight up onto the desk.

They all converged on him the next instant, fists flying with cold steel trying to bite at him. One had taken too wide of a stance and Sam slid right under him, knocking him onto his knees as the thing tried to rend off his arm. Instead, Sam slung backwards and slit his throat. He didn't sit and watch the orange sparks that followed, just slid the blade out and turned to the female demon lashing a knife at him.

She and the other male attacked him from both sides; her host's reactions were…incredible. She lunged toward his chest; Sam jumped out of her way, but he missed the other demon's weapon by a hairsbreath. She made another move with a grunt for his chest again and Sam went to intercept her blade with as much power as he could, hoping to disable her. Instead, she made a last second feint and aimed for his leg. Sam reacted almost quick enough. It glanced his leg, cleaving away flesh like a skinner would his kill.

Sam cried out, but tried not to let the wound distract him. The other demon, seeing his partner had wounded him, made a lunge for Sam. Sam flung his body away at the last minute. The demon's weapon drove deep into the bricks. Sam moved fast, cutting through the thin skin on his arm through his main artery. Sparks came up as Sam drew back and stabbed the creature again in his stomach; destroying the demon and, as Sam grimmly acknowledged, an innocent man.

Sam didn't have time to feel bad for his loss though. The female was on his ass, fighting doubly hard now that her companions had been slain before her eyes.

She acted fast, striking his bleeding wound hard and forcing him to double over in pain. Ruby's knife scittered from his hand. He desperately tried to reach for it, but the demon's high heel crunched his hand. She wiped blood from a cut he'd given her; she then calmly bent over and picked up his weapons. The fire, now unhampered by the holy water, had grown stronger once more. It cast a bloody haze on Sam and his attacker, strengthening their shadows and smouting the air with foul smoke.

"You know, you have been one real pain in the ass." She kicked his face as he tried to get on his knees. "The body count alone…Lilith wasn't too happy to hear about your little midnight escapade the other night. Fortunately, she sent me to clean up the pieces."

"Man, she's resorted to digging through the trash now." Maybe insulting someone who has you on the ground wasn't the best plan ever. The demon's foot met Sam's gut the next second.

"Who are you calling trash, you puking pustral? I happen to be someone who doesn't quite answer to Lilith even. Hense that killing you is not quite my plan."

"Apparently beating the crap out of me isn't out of the question though." Sam retorted spitting blood from his lips.

She smiled as she bent over and pinched his cheeks. "No, that's just for fun. By the way, I like your taste in women."

As if that was a cue, two demons came in holding a struggling Sarah between them. One of them had a pen sticking out of his chest, crimson blood dripping from the wound.

"Sam!" There was that expression Sam had seen so many times now; that magical one that said she was more concerned for him than herself. Sam could feel his stomach drop.

"Let her go." He tried to put an intimidating tone in his voice, but between a couple broken ribs and the crackle of his dry throat from the fire, it came out bloody and as broken as he felt inside. It took his brain a moment to comprehend that when he'd said that, so had Sarah.

"Oh, your going to need to be a whole lot more convincing than that before I will, Sarah." The creature grabbed Sam, raising him up against the wall by his throat. Strangled gasps came out of Sam's throat.

"Stop! No! Leave him alone!" Sarah cried. The demon simply chuckled, raising her hand in the air. She slowly closed it and the next thing Sam knew, his chest was on fire. Blood vessels were popping throughout his body, their contents brought to the surface through his pores. To say it was painful would be an understatement.

He could faintly hear Sarah calling to him, her voice pleading and desperate. His vision blured in and out of focus. Suddenly, he heard a new voice.

"Bael!" He watched through pain-drunk eyes as the demon's eyes flashed over to the entrance, where a face he felt he should recognise from somewhere stood. His dazed mind vaguely wondered if it could be Dean, but then Dean wasn't that short. Was he? Where was he anyway? Wait a minute, why did it matter? Who was he just thinking of? What was that feeling in his throat? What about that light dancing just out of the corner of his vision? It was so…pretty…

Sam felt black spots dancing across his vision as the demon shrieked and Sam collided with the floor. Quick as lightning he was back up, being pulled away. Vaguely, he remembered he was under attack and that he had to fight, but as soon as he started, he became extremely confused. Was it just a dream or has he just heard Sarah whipser in his ear? Maybe he'd made it to heaven.

"Don't fight me. You're hard enough to carry you big baby." The crackle of a gun went off somewhere in the distance as Sam stopped struggling and shortly after, he was completely out. The last thing he saw was an angel's face, looking down at him with pursed lips.

Black was all there was. Was it all there had ever been? he

He could see warm light flickering in. what color was that exactly? Amber? Bronze? Red? Did it really matter? Did anything? A part of him didn't think so, although another part was screaming at him. "Get up! Danger!" it screamed.

"Go away…" Sam muttered. Not a good idea, he realized the next second. His voice was met by a cleching pain in his head. He hissed, willing the quiet thrumming of his faint heart to come back instead. He wanted to go back to the blackness. Even this red crap made his head hurt too bad. For some reason he got the sense that he had been wanting just this for so long. He shouldn't go back out.

Slowly he could feel himself becoming more aware of his body. The tingle across his arms as his hairs stood on end. A cool, wet feeling across his chest which gave him a sickening feeling. His leg spazming periodically every five or six seconds, bringing on waves of pain.

What could he say about the pain? It felt like there were a million pinpicks, burnining across his chest. Like someone was literally driving needles the width of a fork's teeth speckled up and down his ribs. The worst part of it was he was cold. He wasn't sure if it was the blood plus the AC or just the injuries period.

An image flashed into his brain. It was of a man, covered in blood just as he was now, pinned against a wall by a demon just as he had been. Dean…where was he? Sam almost started calling out to him, then he saw it again. That annoying speck of blood on his cheek Sam had tried so hard, for some odd reason, to scrub off. The ribbons of flesh and cloth and blood and bone diced about on his chest. An image of hooks and lightning and more pain. The same one he'd gotten the moment he'd held Dean that last time, thumbing his green eyes closed for the last time.

It hurt. Maybe more than the holes in his chest. Because his body would heal, more or less holes. But that image, the last choked cries as his own blood gurgled onto his lips…it was something that haunted him, even now, when his eyes were closed. And it could claim his life if these holes didn't first.

"Sam…" he heard a soft voice say. Then his mind finally came up to the present. Sarah…the police station…the demons. He couldn't leave her, not anymore. His eyes snapped open, possibly too fast. The light overhead made him squint, staring up at Sarah's beautiful, tear filled face. The moment his eyes met hers, she cupped his face and raised him off of her lap, kissing his forehead. It was nice, but that didn't exactly stop the room from spinning. Since when was he on a fricken thrill ride?

He groaned. She seemed to catch onto his vertigo and let his head back onto her lap. But part of him had enjoyed it. Even still, her fingers carressed his face like she thought if she left him alone for even one second, he would disappear. Of course, he had before. There was no reason why she should trust him not to leave now.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the faint cling of Sarah's purfume through a thick musk of blood and sweat..sadly most likely from both. But for some reason, Sam found himself focusing on her purfume. What was it? Strawberries and…what? It was always on the tip of his tongue from the moment he met her.

Funny how it was the little things in life that tended to bug him so much. There were so many other things which could be bothering him at the moment, but instead he was focusing on purfumes. Sam realized that maybe that was what he always had done. In a family where a tramatic expirence for everyone else was Saturday dinner for Sam and Dean, maybe he had always needed something small like purfumes or holes in the wall to put his attentions into.

"He awake?" a deeper voice asked softly. Sam let his eyes open again, his curiousity of the familiar sound aroused. Once more, the first thing he really saw was Sarah, her once neatly tied hair ruffled and a cut across her right cheek that seemed to have clotted. Overall, she didn't look like she was too much worse for wear despite her puffy eyes and cheeks stained with tears.

He didn't recognize his surroundings; not from where he had passed out nor anywhere else he had ever been. It was poorly lit, with one sorry flourcent bulb overhead. Inscribed all over its walls were criptic markings in red spray paint; some like the devils trap Sam recognized immediately, some symbols much older with a sense of resonating power. A couple stairs led upwards to a sturdy looking door with a line of salt in front of it. The room itself was low; Sam made a mental note not to even consider jumping up least he hit the cement ceiling. But it gave them and quite a bit of random supplies plenty of room to move around.

Sam finally knew where the voice had seemed so familiar from; he'd most certainly met the well dressed man standing in the corner of the room before. It just surprised him vaguely.

"Detective Mark Rowson…I had no idea you were into such things." Sam croaked out. The detective shrugged.

"I guess we were both keeping secrets…" He flashed Sam a half smile.

"If you knew…why did you keep me here? They've been after me…"

"I've heard about you, Sam. A lot of people in this line of work have. I'm sorry about your brother…but I need your help." Sam cocked his head at the detective.

"If you haven't noticed, I tend to be more of a problem creator than a problem solver." Sarah stifled a chortle and Sam shot her a glare.

"Make no mistake, Winchester. If you weren't here, there would still be demons out there. I didn't make this room for nothing. I've had to relocate more times than you can count on your hands and feet. Convinced the burrue that they are part of a drug bust I completed a while back."

"What are they after?" The detective's face darkened. Sam realized he had no intention of


End file.
